Riding the Slipstream

Into the sunset...

2006-09-28T21:41:00.000+02:00

Time warp...

2006-09-10T22:06:00.000+02:00

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once – Albert Einstein Why is it when you are in a hurry to do something, someone else is there to slow you down or prevent you from doing what you want to do. It is as if the universe conspires against you in order to restore some sort of cosmic balance. Well if it is, I for one would like to give the universe the finger and say, “Take your cosmic balance and stick it up your aris!” Take last Friday, for instance. It is my lunch hour and I need money in a hurry. I owe someone at the office a few quid and I want to settle it before the weekend starts. So I get in my car and rush off to the shopping mall to draw the required amount of money. It takes me about 30 minutes to get to the mall and find parking space, which leaves another 30 minutes to do my thing, and get back to the office. If I take any longer, I will be late for the meeting I have scheduled for 2pm, which would lead to yet another exchange of words with the boss. It is the last thing I want… not on a Friday afternoon! I get to the only auto-teller machine and there is a young woman at the machine. Young professional, good-looking, smartly dressed. My lucky day! I can make it back to the office in time. I mean… how long can one person take to withdraw a few rand? Much longer than you think, the gods decide. You are on our turf now and we want to have some fun! They instruct Ms Young Professional to firstly draw two mini-statements on two different cards/accounts. She takes, what seems to me like a life-time, to enter her pin-code and follow the instructions on the screen… or perhaps she is just methodical… painstakingly methodical. Meanwhile, I am shifting my weight from left to right and boring holes into the back of her skull. “Hurry up... please, hurry up”, I silently mouth to myself. It’s like having a big pee and all the stalls are engaged. I could easily challenge her, but I am really tired of being confrontational. Upon receiving her mini-statements, she scrutinizes them with such intensity it seems she’s auditing the books of a small company. She does all of this, while standing in front of the machine. The machine has become part of her personal space. I cough loudly to make my presence felt, but she gives me a fleeting glance and then proceeds to insert the first card back into the machine! She really is the poster girl for not “keeping all your eggs in one basket”, don’t you think? I am craning my neck to look over her shoulder (and looking suspiciously like a thief) as if I could mentally enter her pin-code and complete the transaction for her. Ten minutes have passed and I can see my day heading south at lightening speed. I am as impotent as Hugh Heffner sans his Viagra and Father Time, in a cruel twist of fate, has decided to speed up the passing of time. Finally, the machine spits out her money. All of 50 freaking bucks!! It took her all this time, to decide whether she wants to withdraw 50 Rand from one of her many accounts. Are you kidding me, grandma? 50 bucks should be a no-brainer… just draw the money and sort the budget out at home or away from the teller machine! How difficult could that be, I ask you? As she takes the money and her statement and turns away, I rush forward and slot my card into the machine. She looks at me as if I am Satan’s spawn and mumbles something about “waiting your turn”. I could not be bothered. I have 15 minutes left to do my thing and I am pissed off. If I had my way, I would arrest people like her for stealing time. Even if I had not been in a hurry, this woman had just stolen 15 minutes of my day from me. Transactions like these should be conducted inside the bank… not at the auto-teller machine. By the time I get back to the office, it is 10 minutes after 2. The meeting had already started and the boss throws a snide “glad you could finally join us, [K]” in my direction. I can feel my scrotum tighten as the anger wells up inside of me. I mumble my apologies and sit down. Where are the gods and their cosmic mumbo-jumbo now? Some days just aren’t worth getting out of bed for.

I am minion, Hear me roar...

2006-09-05T11:20:00.000+02:00

I love it when my boss calls me to his office to have a strategic conversation about the projects I am working on. He is s one of those people who have the uncanny ability to do both sides of a conversation… by himself. You know the type. He would ask you a question in the middle of a conversation, pause, and then go ahead and answer it himself. It’s like I’m not even there in the office with him. When he does that, it takes me back to my childhood. Whenever I did something wrong, my Dad would always say (with that little vein throbbing on the side of his head), “Just who do you think you are?”, and then he’d go ahead and tell me exactly who he thought I was. Ha ha… those were the good old days! I am not the only person he (the boss) does this to. I‘ve seen him do it in conversation with other people as well. It actually creates the impression that he has thought it through and that he had considered all the angles. Very effective… if not, not extremely annoying. He’d say things like “Do you know why I think we should take the risk?” or “Here’s why I think you should go ahead and do this”, and then he’d go on and spew forth a plethora of reasons. Of course this means that I basically stand there and nod my head in agreement. It is like white noise. I find it very soothing in a depreciating kind of way. Naturally, there is a small part of me that wants to rock the boat and go ahead and answer the question before he gets a chance to air his point of view. For no particular reason, but to interrupt his rhythm and because I can. I am well aware that the posing of the question is merely an academic exercise and that he does not expect me to have an answer. In fact, he is banking on me not to. But I am still going to do it. For the sake of my own sanity, and because I can’t wait to see the look of surprise on his face when he realises that I can actually think for myself and that I have an opinion. The majority of which, I loathe admitting, could be considered arbitrary. My strategy could actually backfire and I may bite off more than I can chew, but then it is all about taking the risk and asserting myself. You could say I have “a bee in my bonnet” when it comes to these things. I’d hate to think that I am nothing more than a sounding board for him and his ideas. Come to think of it… he probably does.

All decked out in black & white

2006-09-01T13:21:00.000+02:00

I attended an Awards function with the gf last night. The event was sponsored by the company she works for. Black tie. The perfect gentleman. It hurts just thinking about it. I was not looking forward to going, but the matter of my attendance was not negotiable. That much was made clear from the start. I haven’t worn my tux in a long time and was surprised that it still fit me. The last thing I wanted to do was to go to a tailor for alterations. There is something about having your body parts touched and measured that does not seem right… especially when it is done all over. Some things are a lot more tolerable when there’s a certificate on the wall… preferably from a medical school. I do clean up nicely, if I dare say so myself. (bleh) Ok, perhaps I am just vain… anything (anyone) looks good in a tux… just watch The March of the Penguins. Those little guys look so friggin cute! (insert the smiley face) Half of the evening was spent sitting at the table as award after award was doled out. It is not quite the Emmys or the Oscars, but one would never say that judging by some of the acceptance speeches that were made. Whatever happened to a humility! Apparently she’s been fucked over by arrogance and self-importance. It is hard to remain upbeat and positive when you are confined to a chair for more than 90 minutes. On the other hand it could just be the ADHD or the lack of red wine. (Oh, look! The ice-cream in my bowl is shaped like the The Virgin Mary!) There is nothing worse than being at a party when the number of people you know can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Between the head-nods and the introductions, I always feel like I am taking part in a parade. Being introduced or referred as [S] s bf kind of has the effect of reducing one to the rank of kept boy… only the perks are not as exciting. The key to surviving a dull party is to have arbitrary knowledge on as many topics as possible. “Fake it and work it”, that’s my motto. This is quite easy to do as most conversations are about as profound and enjoyable as sticking your finger up your nose. And if you run out of things to say and your neck tires from all the nodding, you can always excuse yourself by pointing to your empty glass and walking over to the bar for a refill. Of course I had to be on my best behaviour. Some things just aren’t funny when it could mean the end of your gf’s professional career. A word to the wiser… if you ever have the misfortune of being introduced to a financial consultant named Simon, pull the fire-alarm and make for the exit… immediately. He will suck you into a vortex of ass-numbing me-me talk that will make you want to shove a scud missile up his arse. In the end the evening was a huge success or so I was told. I don’t actually know what makes for a successful Awards Evening as it mostly depends on what you wanted to achieve in going there. Of course, if you had won an award… that goes without saying. To the losers… well, I guess there is honour in being nominated. Yeah right, I’d rather be pissing blood! Face it… it sucks to lose. As for me, well my aspirations on this occasion were rather low. I made the girlfriend happy, got home just before midnight… sober and in one piece.

Just another day at the office

2006-08-30T20:20:00.000+02:00

Guy 1: Hey, have you heard that we now only have eight planets in our solar system. Guy 2: Yeah, that is because The International Astronomical Union (IAU) has recently revised the definition of what constitutes a ‘true’ planet. So although Pluto still technically remains in the planet category, it is now called a dwarf planet. Guy 1: I wonder if we are expected to know the names of the new dwarf planets? Guy 2: Why do you ask? Are you planning on going back to school and rewriting your *matric exam?

I guess that settled that argument... or not! Ha ha. [matric = South African High School Diploma]

Live by your mistakes

2006-08-25T20:51:00.001+02:00

My parents are selling their house and will soon move into an apartment in a townhouse complex. Needless to say, they need to rid themselves of a shitlooad of possessions they have stockpiled over the years. When I was over there the other day, they suggested that I poke around my “old room” and take with me a few things from my childhood. The room still contained some of my things they had brought with them when we moved from Cape Town to Johannesburg… some of them still in boxes. Talk about taking a trip down memory lane and reliving the good times! The place was a veritable library of the early years of my existence. I was “locked” in there for hours. While paging through a box of old magazines from the 90’s, I came across a full-page print ad for Cuervo Gold Tequila. Ha ha. It was obviously geared at linking Cuervo to some of the silly, if not memorable, experiences people have as they grow up. Perhaps it was a collection of the marketer’s own experiences? 17 MISTAKES YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE.

Your girlfriend’s Mum for your GIRLFRIEND
PUTTING your money where your mouth is
Snubbed the offer of scoring at home to SEE THE BOYS scoring away
Ordered ANY old spirit when you should have ordered by the BRAND (in this case prolly Cuervo Gold Tequila?)
Wearing a SOCK down your pants
STIRRED someone else’s porridge
Given yourself a LOVEBITE with a hoover
Being CAUGHT OUT when you’re IN
SHAVED your genitals
Thinking you could sing my way YOUR WAY
Lost a months wages on a SINGLE HAND
Going with THE FLOW
Resigning from a job before having conformation from the new one
Showing yours first
Jumping on the BAND WAGON
Telling the boss what you REALLY think of him at the Christmas party
Telling the TRUTH

What struck me most about the ad was how easily I could write my name next to 14(!) of the 17 listed mistakes… and if I tried, I could probably add 17 more. And not all of them could be blamed on too much alcohol (Ouch!). One more tequila? You betcha!

Wrong number

2006-08-18T12:13:00.000+02:00

Boredom is an ugly thing. Couple it with opportunity and you could have what is potentially an explosive (or unsettling) situation. About half an hour ago I received an sms on my cellphone. (I assume it was from a girl) It was clearly sent to my phone by mistake, because I did not recognise the number it was sent from. Naturally, and true to my nature, I replied. sms: Where R u? I’ve been waiting 4 over half an hour. me: I am at the airport. sms: What r u doing t the airport? me: I am skipping the country. sms: Wot! What r u doing that for? me: We were busted last night for cocaine possession. sms: OMG! U can’t be serious! R u? me: Yeah, James and Sean got arrested. I was lucky 2 get away. sms: Who are James and Sean? me: My partners sms: R the police looking for u? me: They are. I have to get away. sms: Where will u go me: Can’t say. Don’t want to get u involved. Gotta go. Not safe to sms u. sms: This is unreal. How can u do this? me: Gotta go. Still have to say g-bye to my bf sms: WTF. U have a bf? How did this happen? I don’t know u NE-more. me: Sorry, meant 2 tell u. Gotta go. Boarding plane now. sms: Wait! me: Can’t. Said 2 much already. Love u lots. Will call when I get 2 my destination (I switch my phone off) This was getting way too hairy, even for me. I don’t think I’ll have any good Karma left after this. The guy, whoever he is, has a lot of explaining to do… courtesy of me and my evil mind. Hopefully, my anonymous text buddy would have realised her mistake by the time she runs into the person she was supposed to have sms’d. Sms the wrong phone once more, you idiot! I am definitely NOT a good person.

The world according to...

2006-08-15T22:03:00.000+02:00

My mother called this early morning to ask if I could ask my mate Paul, who’s an auto-mechanic, to have a look at her misfiring car. “I am sure it is probably a minor fault. Why don’t you ask Dad to have a look at it for you?” She said, “Son, I would rather not involve your father in this. I want the car fixed, not destroyed. Your father will never admit it, but he knows diddly-squat about cars. I’ll be lucky if the car can still start after he’s looked at it, and then it will cost and arm and a leg to repair” She has a point. WISE WOMAN! (I wonder if her high-speed highway antics have anything to do with the car misfiring.) My parents’ garage is littered with appliances and repair projects that my father initiated and never completed. Come to think of it, so is mine… but we aren’t talking about me now… he he. I think I may have inherited a few traits from him. And we aren’t the only ones. The average guy will not admit defeat even when the odds are stacked against him. This becomes more so when he feels that his manhood/manliness is at stake. It is difficult to knowingly admit defeat or an inability to do something to a woman or to your mates. The mechanism that kicks in is the same one that prevents us from asking for directions, admitting to doubtful financial aptitude, or that our technical and mechanical abilities borders on zero. Couple to that an uncontrollable urge to take things apart, or put them together, and a perception that we know it all. Many generations of genetic transmutation have equipped males with a sophisticated array of defense mechanisms, all which have been designed to make us overcome the unachievable. A cruel twist of fate, but then Mother Nature is a woman, isn’t she? There exists a rift between what we think we know and the logical brain, and the ego is the guardian of the bridge traversing the rift. The rift may only be a few nanometers wide, but it may as well be the Grand Canyon. And if anything is able to make it pass the guardian and over the gap, it is filed away in subliminal memory crypt where it eventually dissolves and becomes part of a soup of non-essential information. It is the same place where anniversaries, birthdays, and dinner reservations with the in-laws are stored. A woman should never ask a guy if he knows what he is doing. How dare you, woman… of course he does! And if on the odd occasion it transpires that he really does not have a clue, a guy will hide his ineptitude behind a pile of techno mumbo-jumbo such as, “the googly that drives the ignition coil is not aligned with the thingamabob or make some stupid joke. Make no mistake... we are also the proud owner of the bullshit gene! Mother nature taketh, and she also giveth. The only time a man will instinctively throw in the towel is when it comes to life’s softer issues, such as relationship advice and talking about feelings. In these cases all you will get is a curt and decisive, “I don’t know” or “can’t you see I’m busy”. And when approached on these things by your own children, the answer almost always is… “Go and ask your mother”

The other side of Women's Day

2006-08-11T12:57:00.000+02:00

She does the buying; I carry the packets… ALL OF THEM. Where is the justice?

How buying a new pair of shoes can have us going from one shop to another to find an OUTFIT that will go with the new shoes?

The unwavering commitment to shopping when she “claims” she has no money left in her account?

How she bought the new dress to look good for me, when I am quite content with whatever she wears, especially when it is nothing?

The proliferation of histrionics when we run into two (or more) of her friends. I back away slowly and pretend I do not know them… at all.

How many pairs will it take for her to have enough shoes?

How does a fruit like Kiwi become a colour?

Gold jewelry does not interest me, unless it is a bar of bullion or an Olympic gold medal.

I am not interested in Celine Dion’s latest musical endeavor… not ever!

R10.00 off does not count as a discount on an item you do NOT need. Or does it?

I am so whipped!!!

About rugby and cooking... to being me.

2006-08-07T15:08:00.000+02:00

I guess I owe a follow-up post after announcing that [S] and I will be attending cooking classes from Saturday onwards. It is not quite how I envisioned spending my precious leisure time on a Saturday, but I guess there is a first for everything. First things first… The Amabokoboko (the South African rugby team) lost (20-18) the all–important tri-nations game against the Aussies in Sydney. It was a major disappointment… politely put. Not even the alcohol and the cold weather could numb the gut-wrenching pain! Not that I expected us to win an away game, but then, one can always hope and pray for the impossible. I was however quite surprised at how well we played and I will be bold enough to say that we SHOULD HAVE won that game. Yeah, you bloody heard me! The scoreboard may tell a different story, but on the day, South Africa was the better side and the Aussies... well, they were just plain lucky. There, I said it… chapter closed. Ok… let’s get back to Cooking for Fools 101. Saturday’s lesson was an introduction about how the course will be run, the various cooking utensils one would find in the kitchen and how to use them. Apart from blatantly obvious such as, a knife is used for cutting, it really helps to use the right tool for the right job, if you know what I mean. I also realized that most utensils used in the kitchen are really really SHARP, and that I could do serious damage to my body parts or even lose a few… yikes!! Let’s just say the phrase, “put your cock on the block” has new meaning to me. We also learnt about the different cuts of meat (who knew!), different vegetables and their uses (who knew an onion could be so versatile?) and the nuances and flavors various spices add to dishes. (I’ve got my eye on you coriander… you sexy thing, you!) Two people share a prep and cook area and there are 24 people to the class, mostly trendy singles and young (newlywed) couples. No surprises here. We eat what we cook, share a glass of wine, have a few laughs and take home whatever is left over. Aprons, recipes and ingredients are provided by the establishment, which seems reasonable, given the amount of dosh we fork out. At the start of the first class we were each given the opportunity to introduce ourselves with a short bit about what we hope to achieve and why we are doing the classes. It was pretty lame really, as most, if not all of us are there because we are complete and utter doofusses in the kitchen. What do they expect us to say other than the bog-standard “improve my cooking kills”, “learn something new” and “I can’t frikkin cook”? When my turn came around, I was all set to go with the “I-am-a-disaster-in-the-kitchen” scenario, when the comments made by my dear friends’ (Jarvenpa, IITQ and Blackcrag) came to mind. (Thanks guys! Or perhaps I was still drunk from the alcohol I consumed during the game… who knows?) “The truth is”, I said, “I am really just here for the sex. I’ve been told that women find a man who can cook irresistible and I am hoping to impress the opposite sex and get laid more often… many times over. It is not that I am not getting any, I just want to up my quota” (I warned you before… I have no shame!) The room went silent. [S] gasped audibly and then kicked me on the shin. She’s been with me long enough to know that I was taking the piss out of everyone in the room. The singles at the back and on the left of us giggled and then started laughing. They may loathe to admit it, but they are all here for the same reason…. to get their freak on. There’s no fooling me, mister… I know you! The chef, God bless his chubby chocolate filled heart, caught on to my sense of humour. He promised that I would definitely be a hit with the ladies…. that is, if my girlfriend would allow it. Yep, cooking classes beat internet dating… anytime.

Maestro in the making

2006-08-02T21:46:00.000+02:00

FACT: I cannot cook a decent meal if my life depended on it, and I have the scars to prove it. No, really. I mean it. No jokes here. When [S] suggested that we sign up for cooking classes, I thought at first that I may have heard her incorrectly. My response was, “What ever for? I do not belong in a kitchen. Right now I have all the cooking skills I need or should be allowed to have; I can operate a can opener, boil water, scramble eggs and BBQ meat on a Saturday afternoon. For the rest there is Woolies and take out” Not so, I am told. Cooking classes for culinary enthusiasts is the new “in” thing and everyone, it seems, wants to learn to cook up a storm. (They do?) It is kinda like going the gym (oh yeah?). It is the new social trend and more and more people are doing it. It’s all about socializing and feeling good about yourself as you master new skills. Blah, blah, blah… she sounds like an ad in a glossy magazine. Electric shock therapy and a prescription for Lithium seems more preferable. Right from the start there was a flaw in her argument. I am NOT a culinary enthusiast. I prefer to have my food prepared for me by someone else. I am perfectly happy with eating and tasting as long as I do not have to slave away in a kitchen for hours on end. Where is the fun in eating food you prepared yourself? She also said something about there being something sexy about a man who can cook. Awesome. I guess I must be running low on sex appeal then. Damn. Now I come from a long line of culinary idiots. None of the men in my family can cook a proper meal and we are thoroughly content to be kitchen dweebs. The one thing we are good at is providing moral support and conversation to whomever does the cooking. If a “cooking-companion” is what you are looking for, then I’m your guy. I’ll even wash and clean the veggies when I am asked to. When I want to see a guy in the kitchen, I tune into the food channel and watch Jamie Oliver, Bill Granger and other celebrity chefs as they go about their business. What did me in was the look of utter disappointment on her face as I realized how much it would mean to her that we do this together. This was important stuff and not to be taken lightly! I could think of numerous other fun things to do if spending time together was an issue, yet how could I expect her to do what I want and not be willing to do the same for her? Hence, I gave in and let her have her way. I have learned that time, attention and compromise are key ingredients in a relationship and that it is critical to delight the opponent with the edge, i.e. the one who can and will withhold sex. He he. That said, it is not the kind of ploy I think she would utilize. She is not that shallow and manipulative. It does however make for good common sense to ensure it never happens. So… starting this Saturday, and for the next six weeks thereafter, the Chitty will re-kindle his pioneering spirit, don an apron and release the inner outlaw as he boldly goes where few men of his generation has gone before… set foot in the kitchen with the sole purpose of preparing something that is both tasty and edible. Watch me as I learn to chop, de-bone, puree, julienne, sauté, roast, bake and flambé my way into the new century. I hope they have insurance!

Overheard...

2006-07-27T11:51:00.000+02:00

in Mr. Video (video & dvd rental franchise) Guy: How about this one? (holds up a DVD cover and looks at it) Girl: Let me see… (takes the cover fro him). Aaah. I know about this one. My sister rented it a few weeks ago. Guy: And… what did she have to say about it? Is it any good? Girl: Not a good movie. She said the plot is predictable & tired; the characters are shallow and the dialogue wooden. Guy: Ah… ok. (takes the cover from her and puts it back on the shelf) Girl (looking at another DVD): The special effects and action scenes are brilliant and the love scenes are very graphic. Guy: Cool… I think we should take it. (Grabs the DVD and follows her into the next aisle) Got to hand it to him. He knows a good movie when he sees one. Pity there was only one copy left... hehe.

(Almost) beaten into submission

2006-07-25T14:24:00.000+02:00

Criticism is a bitch, innit? I can’t think of anything worse, except death and taxes. It hurts even more when it comes from someone you respect and when you realize that they may be correct in what they say. It is not that I do not appreciate good advice, but sometimes people tell you things that you do not want to hear. It is human nature I guess. If there is perhaps one thing I hate personally more than being criticized, then it is being patronized. When you are spoken down to. When someone says something to you and says it in such a way that it makes you are made to feel like an idiot. Like when the guy at the night club tells you in a condescending tone that you cannot enter simply because your jeans not comply with the dress code. How would you have known that? It is however when someone patronizes you at the office that it hurts most. Like the dressing down I was given today. And it is especially painful when it is delivered to you by a seemingly of control emotionally charged senior manager, whom you respect. Darn. And I thought human interaction these days was all about being politically correct, constitutionally right and all that crap. Or perhaps he was just exercising his right to freedom of expression. It was a classic case of my stick (dick?) is bigger than yours and don’t you forget it! To say that I was pissed off at the manner in which the criticism(?) was leveled at me would be the understatement of 2006. Somewhere in there, in spite of the 1,001 personal references, I knew he was trying to make a point, but for the hell of me I just could not see it. I was too busy trying to make sense of all the hand gestures he was making at the time. He looked like a frikkin pointsman at a very busy traffic intersection! I guess he enjoyed his little tirade so much that he flagrantly disregarded the facts pertaining to the matter. The bemused expression on my face must not have met with his approval, because he ended off with a "don’t you dare look at me like that, young man!" [Dad, how on earth did you get in here?] When I finally had the opportunity to voice my humble opinion, it just did not seem worth it to defend myself. He was not in the mood to listen and I was far too bloody angry to get my thoughts in order. Besides, I did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. I elected to make appointment to speak with him when he is less emotional. Having said that, the onus is still on me to sieve through the rubbish and heed the "advice". It pays to check your reflection in that mirror, boet! Step up to the challenge and accept what is being dished up like a mature man. Ah. Yeah. Whatever. All in a day’s work, I guess. It is going to be a helluvah long week.

Swimming upstream

2006-07-20T11:31:00.000+02:00

The gf and I are having dinner with her parents tomorrow night. Pffft. Dinner with her parents is like walking into the lion’s den covered in the blood of a freshly slaughtered animal. I exaggerate of course, but these encounters can be pretty harrowing. It is not that I cannot stand the prospective in-laws, they are good people I am sure. It just feels as if I am on trial when I am with them and there is a distinct expectation that I need to prove myself every time we meet… especially to the father. [S]’s father is old school, and I say this in the nicest possible way… a pit-bull from days gone by. He’s a self-made man as he likes to put it. He runs his own business and got to where he is today through hard work, long hours and sheer perseverance. I am not afraid of him, but he does make me somewhat uneasy. He grew up in a time where a man’s worth and success was measured by how well he provided for his family and where the husband was the supreme god. They say, “Keep your son off the pipe and your daughter off the pole”. His parenting style is a lot more complex than that. And it starts with a firm belief that he knows better… which is fine, I guess, for when the kids are small and still living with you. I am a constant source of bewilderment to him it seems. I know he’s actually faking it, so I play along. And even if he isn’t, I would not blame him… there are times when I confuse myself. He has very little understanding of what my profession entails, preferring to see marketers as “blood suckers” and intrinsic spinners of tall tales. (I actually agree with him on this) And because I know this, I use it to my advantage whenever the opportunity arises. Rub it in, so to speak. Hey… if you can’t win ‘em over, you may as well have fun with them. And I do like to have fun! The most difficult part of our “relationship” is that he still sees [S] as his little girl. He is very protective of her and therefore too damn close to us for my liking. In some ways he sees me as the challenger, and although I given him any reason to believe that I do not have her best interests at heart, he would not hesitate to take me on if he believes I am not doing right by her. He’d also prefer it if I was more conventional and less of a nutcase… yeah right. I am known for being head-strong and a cocky. He and I have had fiery debates (all in good spirit) in the past over a number of things, such as my job, the state of the nation (is it ever good?); sport and how Hollywood and modern technology have turned men into wimps. He has some pretty nifty ideas about what real manhood entails. Keeping a straight face in the midst of such unwavering comical conviction takes a lot doing. Believe me! The trump card is that his daughter chose me and it really does not matter what he or anyone else thinks. This has lead me to believe that I am either just like her father or his polar opposite. For obvious reasons, I am strongly leaning towards the latter. God forbid I am him 20 years on. The strategy for tomorrow night is to focus on the rugby. With the Boks’ dismal performance last week and the upcoming game against the All Blacks, I can’t go wrong. Now that is how one shifts the focus and does marketing for personal gain! That qualification is coming in handy after all.

Dumbfounded....

2006-07-17T11:45:00.000+02:00

is when you catch a glimpse of the driver of the vehicle who forced you to move over to the middle lane, as she drives past you at a speed in excess of 140km/h while talking on her cell phone and realize that she is… YOUR MOTHER! Now there is something you do not want to experience every day. I wonder if her husband is aware of what she gets up to in her spare time? Prolly not... he he.

Walking with the brakes on

2006-07-14T14:23:00.000+02:00

Walking comes as naturally as breathing… well... perhaps not as naturally, because it talks a while before you are ready to take those first steps. But you get my point… walking is not a difficult exercise. I’ve been doing it for a while now, and I do not have any trouble with it at all. When we drive our cars on the highways or along suburban streets, there are certain rules of the road which have to be obeyed. Why not the same with walking? Yesterday, I was walking in the mall minding my own business. I made sure that I do not step on people’s toes and nor did I make any sudden hand-movements, so that I do not spook my fellow mall rats. I kept a safe distance all around, going with the natural flow and pace of the pedestrian traffic, when suddenly I walked into some woman’s bony ass! All I can say is that it gave new meaning to the term... bootylicious. Now I know this sounds absolutely ludicrous, but I did. This woman had decided that it was ok for her stop dead in her tracks and cease all forward movement, because of something she saw in a shop window. There was no indication that she was slowing down and no walking towards the shop window where she could drool over the object of her desire at leisure. Nope, she decided she could do that right from where she was standing… from the middle of the friggin passage-way. Perhaps she possesses super-human eyesight? You aren't the only one, Mr. Superman! Since I was unable to read her thoughts (which normally I am very good at) and assuming that the aim of walking was that we would all move forward in a somewhat orderly manner, I kept going. By the time I realized she had stopped, it was too late and I walked right into her. In fact, the only way I could avoid her was if I could pull off a tsukahara with a double twist. The collision knocked the wind right out of me and was followed by a sharp pain. Eina! I tried to apologise (why?), but she would have none of it. A surly, "Can’t you look where you are going", was all I got out of her. Thank you very much! I wanted to ask her if she could be wary of where she "parks" her bony ass, but I feared it may turn into a bitch fest. So I flashed her my most brilliant (albeit painful) smile and kept on walking. And yes, M'am, that was my groin you felt when I walked into you. I fear I may never father any off-spring, but that is none of your concern. I hope that whatever you saw in that window brings you hours of immense carnal pleasure!

Not quite Little Boy, but damn close...

2006-06-29T12:44:00.000+02:00

Sometimes one has to roll with the punches and take things in your stride. Other times, tact has no place in this world, and one has to tackle what life throws at you… head-on. ME: Dude, did you just fart while I was taking to you? HE: Erm… No, of course not! (crooked smile) ME: Are you sure? I heard a strange noise while you were talking to me. HE: Oh, that was my stomach rumbling. I haven’t had breakfast and I am a little hungry at the mo. ME: Man, you really ought to see a doctor about that stomach of yours. HE: He he… why’s that? ME: Well, it seems that when your stomach rumbles, it also gives off a unique odour. Not very pleasant at all. (I back away and start walking to the other side of the room) HE (giggle): Where are you going… we aren’t done talking yet! ME (laughing): Uh… yeah about that… can we continue this conversation sometime later? There is a pocket of fresh air on the other side of the room. I want to get to it before it disappears. HE (realizing the game up): Come on [K]… gimme a break, ok? Look… I’m sorry. ME (still laughing): Dude… think Little Boy & Hiroshima! When the last bomb of this magnitude was dropped on mankind, it was 6th of August 1945. And even back then, the outcome was not pleasant. . HE (shaking his head): They broke the mould when they made you, didn’t they? ME (from across the room): Funny, you should say that. I just had the same thought about you. Now, we are all guilty of letting go and thinking we can get away with at some point in our lives. That’s life! But when you are caught in the act, do the honourable thing and ‘fess up. Stinker! I wonder if he is radio-active? Guess, I’ll have to wait and see if my nose falls off.

Making random connections

2006-06-28T15:33:00.000+02:00

I remember the first time when I felt really alone, or should I say… abandoned. It was the scariest feeling in the world. I remember thinking that nobody was going to find me. I was going to die and no-one was going to know that I was dead because they probably would not notice that I was gone. One has a vivid imagination when you are 6 years old. My mother had taken me shopping with her to a department store. It was a busy Saturday morning. I had somehow got distracted and was separated from her. The one minute she was there and the next minute she was gone. I thought I saw someone who resembled my mother and eagerly ran towards her. I panicked when I realized it wasn’t her, and darted off in what I thought was the direction I had come from, and soon found myself horribly lost. It is rather difficult to find someone when all you can see of people is what they look from the waist down. I did not know what to do, so I sat down and cried. People were walking past me in all directions and finally an elderly woman took pity on me and asked me what was wrong. Through the snot and the tears, I managed to tell her that I had lost my mother. I was able to tell her my name and the name of my mother. She took my hand and escorted me to the manager’s office. Walking with her was also scary as I had been brought up not to talk to strangers or to go with people I did not know. One hour later, and after numerous announcements on the public address system, I was rescued by my mother. She cried when she saw me and hugged me so tightly that she practically squeezed the air out of my lungs. I learnt a valuable lesson that day. That asking for help and talking to a stranger when you have run out of options is not the worst thing in the world. And what you imagine might happen is actually far scarier than what is actually happening. When she had finally managed to calm down and regain her composure, her first words to me were, “Wait till your father hears about this. You should learn to pay more attention to what I say to you. (she had told me to repeatedly not let go of her hand). One day your attitude will get you into big trouble”. How right she was… many times over. Yesterday I got into trouble again for not paying attention to what someone was saying to me. I had caught the start of the conversation, but was too embarrassed (polite?) to admit that it was of no interest to me and hence I had no clue of what was being said. Nothing new… spacing out in the middle of conversations is a popular pastime for me. The person had actually asked me a question, and not having paid attention, I responded in what could only be described as utter nonsense. In the process I managed to insult not only the much-revered speaker, but incurred the contempt of all those around me. It is a strange moment when you realize that you are completely alone in a crowd of people and that no-one will be coming to your rescue, at least not this time. An apology and a half-hearted attempt at humour can only take you to a certain point and then no further. From then on onwards it is only you and your own stupidity. I can’t say it was a pleasant experience. It was however a valuable experience... and it sucked!! I don’t know why this incident made me remember those words my mother said to me all those many years ago. Although, at the time I felt exactly like a six year old who had just lost his parents in a crowded mall.

Whatever happened, happened

2006-06-22T14:12:00.000+02:00

I bumped into an old roommate of mine on Monday when I was standing in line at the post-office. I use the term "bumped into" very loosely, since we did not speak to one another and all I was really trying to do was avoid her at all cost. This was by no means as an easy feat, since she was only two people ahead of me in the queue. When I first saw her, I went so pale I looked like I had just OD-ed on smack. The only words going through my head was, "don’t turn around… please, don’t turn around", as if by thinking it over and over, I could compel her to keep looking straight ahead. I could have easily tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Hello, how are you?", as any sane person would have done under the same circumstances. But I feared that by doing so, we would probably end up going for a drink. We would exchange pleasantries and talk about what we got up since we both left university. We would inevitably end up re-capping the antics we got up to while sharing an off-campus flat for 2 years back in the good old days. All perfectly nice, it would seem… on the surface. However, I feared that we might talk about one night at the end of our final year, shortly before we gave up the flat, when we ended up sleeping in the same bed. It was a stupid thing to do, but we were hosting a particularly wild student party to celebrate the end of our 4 years at university, and we both had way too much to drink. I am not offering that up as an excuse… we did. Really. And even though this had all happened many years ago, it suddenly felt very recent and the memory of how (extremely) awkward it had been in the few days after the incident, welled up inside of me. At the time, talking about that night was not an option, so we went about our lives as if nothing had happened. The situation was awkward for a number of reasons; we had been best mates for two years. We used to set up dates for one another with people we fancied. Neither of us wanted to admit openly that it really meant nothing/zilch/nada, for fear of hurting each other’s feelings, which is how I suspect we both felt. So I buried my head in the newspaper I had with me, and pretended that I had not seen her. She finally made it to the front of the queue, did whatever she came there to do, and as she turned around to walk back to the exit, I dropped down on one knee and pretended to tie my shoelace. Yep, I wore my crown as the king of the cowards with unrivaled pride! Grrr… She walked past without noticing me… or perhaps she had seen me too and was doing the exact same thing I was doing. Perhaps it is all for the best, I thought as I watched her walk away. Even though we had had lots of good times, deep down I did not really want to re-kindle the "friendship" we had back in the old days. Not that I feared a repeat what had happened… even I am not that vain and cocky! The truth is we never really fancied one another to begin with. We were young and believed that nothing we did back then could affect us later on in life. And so far denial has worked for us… so why stop now? Some things are just better left in the past, don’t you think?

Football rehab...

2006-06-21T13:18:00.000+02:00

I am a bit of a fanatic; perhaps I am even obsessive, when it comes to some of the things in my life. My Playststion2 being a case in point. Now, most people/gamers will tell you that the Playstation is indeed a Pandora’s box. Once you are hooked on it, life will never be the same again. You become a zombified couch potato, the living room will turn into a games arcade, and everywhere you look, you will see CD’s and opened CD cases. I have over 60 games (at the last count) in my collection and I calculated the other day that between R300.00 – R500.00 a game, I could have saved myself a ton of money. So much for the gift of hindsight! The gf refers to herself as a Playstation widow. I like the think of her as a Playstation whiner, but that is something I only say to myself… quietly. I am madly competitive and have always loved playing video arcade games. When I bought the Playstation2 a few years ago, I warned her that I may become addicted. The turning point came when I bought the new Play Station Portable (PSP) and a game of FIFA World Cup Football 2006 game. It combined my love for football and my love for video games – a double freakin' whammy. And with World Cup 2006 currently on in Germany, it is has only fuelled my addiction. I’ve become completely engrossed. When I’m not watching the games on DSTV, I’m playing them on my PSP… and vice versa. Fanaticism is exhausting! And let me not tell you what it has done to my diet… I think I own the largest stash of two-minute noodles and Lays Potato Chips outside of Pick ‘n Pay. The idea of managing winning football teams from the luxury of my couch bowled me over completely. And who wouldn’t be, except perhaps the majority of people out there who actually live normal lives. I have also taken superstition and addiction to a new level. If my one of my favourite teams is due to play in the FIFA World Cup, I would play the game on the Playstation before hand. In true ChistSter fashion, I have convinced myself that I could influence the outcome of the real game in Germany. “Don’t underestimate to power of the Playstation”, I would say jokingly. If the team in my game wins… so will the real team in Germany. It has happened a few times, which made me believe there may actually be something to it… ha ha. Now I am fully aware that “coincidence does not causality make”; but try telling that to the superstitious gaming monster who has set up residence inside of me! [S] has (rightfully?) put her foot down and said, “If you play another football game when I am here with you, then ...” It has been a turning point in our relationship. There is definitely something missing now… at least from where I stand. Well, perhaps it is not so much that something is missing, because I have found that there are a myriad of things I can do to while away the time in-between football matches. But, if my team loses in the world Cup, I know exactly who’s to blame blame. I could have made a world of difference if only she had allowed me to play the game beforehand on my PSP… couldn’t I? I need an enabler (any takers?)… someone other than myself who I can blame for my addiction. Hehe… I wonder if there is a Playstation/World Cup Football 2006 helpline? Totally screwed, I know.

A word or two

2006-06-09T11:20:00.000+02:00

I saw this on Blackcrag's blog, who summarily tagged me with the letter “H” (aitch) The rules are simple: Write 10 words beginning with that letter in your journal, including an explanation what the word means to you and why, and then pass out letters to those who want to play along. Now I'm not much of a wordsmith, so it took a while for me to come up with my list. So here goes… 1. Hero: (Dial H for Hero). I have never been much of a hero, but always dream of being one. Too many Marvel comic books when growing up, I guess. Having said that, every society needs heroes. And every society has them… selfless men and women who perform extraordinary acts. Without heroes we are drained of any passion or zeal, never making waves, levelled men fitting perfectly into the box provided for them, every one of us trained to be like everyone else. 2. Homer (as in Homer Simpson): He who juggles the roles of husband, father, safety inspector at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant, bowler, beer drinker, astronaut, small business owner and dreamer, embodiment of the negative stereotypes and makes it all look easy. Oddly enough, Homer is sometimes unpredictably adaptable, quick-witted and capable. When I think of homer the word “Doh” immediately comes to mind and also such gems as "If the Bible has taught us nothing else - and it hasn't - it's that girls should stick to girls' sports, such as hot-oil wrestling, foxy boxing, and such-and-such." 3. Hell: When I was younger, the word hell filled me with much dread and my mother used it very effectively to whip me into shape. A place underground, with fire and molten rock where the devil lives where the evil and sinful, like myself, are doomed to spend all eternity. The devil being a creature who carries a pitchfork, has flaming red skin, horns on his head, a black goatee, and a long thin tail with a triangle shaped barb on it. Yeah, right! Now that I am older and having been told to go there on numerous occasions, I am actually thinking that it may not be a bad place after all. What the hell is Hell, anyway? It is all about perspective I believe. Being stuck in traffic is hell, and so is watching re-runs of Seinfeld. 4. Heart: That pear-shaped structure about the size of a fist that resides in our chest, pumping blood to all parts of the body. Oddly enough (or not!), it is widely regarded as the universal symbol for love. It can however be used to signify a number of other emotions such as, “I’ll rip your friggin' heart out”, “heart-broken”, “a hearty shag”, “I hate you with all my heart”, “You are a heartless bastard”. Got to love semantics! Me? I am all heart… and let me tell you, it is a be-atch when the brain catches up. 5. Humour: I like to think that I have tons of it, although it is not always appreciated and seen as such by those around me. A sense of humour is one of the most important ingredients of what women deem to be a winning personality in a man. So if you are a guy and don’t have a sense of humour, cultivate one, asap! ~Irvin S. Cobb, said, “Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn”, and I tend to agree. It is all about the context and a host of absolute and relative variables. Question: Why is it that the most humourless people always stress the importance of a sense humour? 6. Ho(e): Probably one of my favourite H-words. It brings a smile to my face, and simply because it has gone from one of the tamest words in the English language to one of the most infamous. A hoe, of course, is a tool used for weeding and gardening. We have taken the liberty of changing hoe to ho, a staple of rap music vernacular as, for example, when Ludacris raps “You doin’ ho activities with ho tendencies.” Thank God for rap music or this word may have become extinct… he he. 7. House: In this case, not house as in “home” but House as in the smartest, crankiest, most egotistical SOB doctor that walked the face of the earth. DR. GREGORY HOUSE (Hugh Laurie) is devoid of bedside manner and wouldn’t even talk to his patients if he could get away with it. His behavior borders on antisocial and he uses a cane that seems to punctuate his acerbic, brutally honest demeanor. Got to love him, especially when he comes up with gems like these: Wilson – “Did you know your phone is dead? Do you ever recharge the batteries?” House – “They recharge? I just keep buying new phones.” 8. Hedonism: A belief that pleasure is the highest good. Hedonists want to be free, not tied down, confined, or obligated, to do as they wish when they wish, to enjoy today, to be impulsive, to have a life of action which repudiates long term goals, objectives, or plans, to be active just to be active, to do what they feel the urge to do, to experience excitement, to be seen by others as being free to act, as free spirits, to be exciting, optimistic, cheerful, light-hearted, and full of fun. Oh yeah… just the way I like it... a-ha, a-ha! 8. Hamburger (hot dogs, hot wings): Yep, some of my favourite fast foods begin with H. I’d venture as far as to say that H is the king of the fast food chain. Ok… perhaps that is a bit of a stretch, but I think you get my point. 9. Hot: You are so hot! Gone are the days when hot meant, having or giving off heat; capable of burning or being at a high temperature. These days it is all about sexy, popular, what's “in” and "happening". The word lost(?) a little of its appeal when Paris Hilton coined the phrase, “That’s hot”, but who’s complaining… I‘d settle for her calling me hot any day of the week. 10. Happiness: Arguably, my favourite H-word. It conjures up thoughts of sunshine, joy, peace, and a wonderful sense of well-being. True happiness, I believe, is a choice YOU have to make. There you go… my bit of pop-wisdom for today… take, leave, use it, abuse it. Remember those Happiness is… cartoons? Damn, they were cool back in the day, weren’t they?! Other favourite H’s include, heaven, hope, high score, Huck Finn, hello, Halle berry, heathen. (Who do I tag? will post names in the Footnotes below)

Culinary Interlude

2006-06-06T10:14:00.000+02:00

Me: Can I have the chicken combo, please? (combo = ½ grilled chicken, large fries, 4 bread rolls with a side order of tangy mayonnaise) Assistant: Do you want bread rolls and fries with that? Me (perplexed): Uh... of course I do. It thought that’s what I ordered? Assistant: How many do you want? Me: How many of what? Assistant: How many bread rolls do you want? Me: Let me see… how about a dozen? Assistant: (Rings up the order and passes the order slip on to guys in the kitchen) I start to giggle. Supervisor (watching from the side with an amused smile): Sir, please do not screw with the trainee staff? Me (still laughing): I am not. He is actually doing a fantastic job of it all by himself. I just thought I’ll lend him a helping hand, if you know what I mean. That reminds me…uh, I think I’ll pass on the mayo. Supervisor: You are a regular stand-up comedian, aren’t you? Me: You should see me at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Supervisor: (Laughs and walks to the back to correct the order) Now who said you can’t have fun with fast food?

A ghost in my machine

2006-06-02T10:47:00.000+02:00

The gf says I have anger issues, and I fear she may be right. I can be an inconsiderate arse, and many times, there exists a distinct disconnect between my brain and my mouth. I hate it when someone (anyone) uses an absurd statement to underline a point or to emerge as the victor in a spat. I feel compelled to react, which as the gf points out, is not good and that sometimes there is greater value in simply keeping quiet. I do however find it disconcerting that society and individuals, through their silence, appear to endorse utter baloney when it is paraded it in front of them as the truth. What pains me even more is how easily men in particular, will accept gratuitous society-sanctioned faux pas, simply because they feel ill-equipped to challenge a woman verbally. Let’s face it; women are more evolved when it comes to debating and the use of language. A guy would rather sit there quietly and pretend to agree, than engage in an argument, because: a. He has no idea what women are on about, and b. How does a guy go about disproving something when he is unable to quantify or relate to what is being said? But, I digress and let me not turn this into a gender specific issue. Instead, I'll attempt to illustrate why [S] says that I have anger issues. [S] and I are in Melville, Jo’burg’s quaint little capital of hippy-dom. For those of you who do not know what Melville is like… just wander back to your campus days. Think art studios, writers, second hand furniture shops, spiritual healers, quaint little restaurants, live bands and bars filled to capacity with ppl who shun the norm and whose aim it is to be different. It is the kind of place where dreams hang out when they are not swimming through your unconscious brain in the middle of the night. We having drinks with [S]’s friend, Jen, The Man Slayer, and her boyfriend. We haven’t, and by that I mean the gf, seen them in a while and the conversation mostly centers on, “Have you heard, “Did you know”, and “What-ever happened to so-and-so?” In short, it is about as scintillating as having a gyrating vagina thrust in your face in a strip club… only significantly less pleasant. I am bored out of my skull, but I play the role of the good other. I smile at the right moments and throw in the occasional, “Oh really, that is nice” It helps that they serves the most incredible Vodka Martinis in this joint, because my head feels all warm and fuzzy and I sense that I can actually catch one of those elusive dreams by merely reaching out my hand. At some point, I excuse myself from the conversation to go to the toilet. When I get back, I hear Jen saying to [S], “A man would never be able to tolerate the excruciating pain of childbirth” Oh crap!! I have no idea how the conversation deteriorated to this level in the time it takes to have a piss, but it is not unexpected and I have been here before... many times. When a guy hears a declaration like that, all he wants to do is run away and find something to hide behind… preferably something big and impervious to light. I am thinking this is a good time to do a 180 and head back for the men’s room, but they have already seen me and I have no choice but to sit down. I take a deep breath and tell myself, “Be cool. Change the subject and pretend you have not heard a word of what she said” I manage to do that very effectively for about 2 seconds(!) and then my lips part and I ask casually, “As apposed to what, Jen?” “Have you fallen out of a tree lately and banged your nuts on a really thick branch on the way down or have you ever been kicked so hard in the groin that it feels as if your testicals wound up in your chest cavity?” “Ha ha”, she laughs, somewhat puzzled. “Don’t be absurd [K]. I am a woman. How would I know what that feels like?” “So how would you know that a man would NOT be able tolerate the pain of childbirth? There are some things, thankfully, a man can never hope to experience. And as much as I would like debate the intricacies of childbirth, I believe that drawing comparisons of this nature to illustrate a point is just plain unfair. Giving birth must be excruciating, but it is also an experience that is filled with much happiness, joy and gratitude. In many instances, when you are man, you are just dealing with raw pain and nothing else” [Silence] Of course, the [S] is horrified. She kicks me under the table and asks me to go with her to the bar to buy another round of drinks. “You just had to do it, did you? You could not pretend to let it slide” she says with a somewhat aggrieved look on her face. “After tonight, Jen is never going to speak you again, you know that don’t you?” “I know”, I say…”it is an unexpected perk, but I am sure I can live with that” I guess we won’t be going to Melville anytime soon, and I had better come to terms with life in the dog box. Damn those anger issues… sigh.

Introspective

2006-05-26T13:22:00.000+02:00

For a guy who whines about the inherent difficulties of taking life too seriously, I think too much on things that are of little value to me. Lately I’m always spacing out. In the middle of doing something, or nothing for that matter, I mentally trail off and start thinking about random things. I could muse over how to make the perfect hamburger, consider the pros and cons of being stuck on a desert island with Paris Hilton, and why it is that breathing does not burn more calories. I’m constantly trying to figure out how little things fit into big pictures and why I am living my life the way I do. Sometimes I actually manage to come up with something worthwhile that gives others a new insight into something else. Lately, people just look at me with a vague expression on their faces, as I walk up to them and share my thoughts. “Yep, there is a loose screw in there somewhere”, I can almost hear them saying. Things like wondering if it is because I was nasty to the guy downstairs with the bad haircut, that’s why the gf said she is thinking perhaps we should have baby? Huh? At which point I stop and think, “Does she think I am not serious about the relationship? Or am I just imagining that because I am guilty of having extremely lustfull thoughts about someone I met recently. Is there such a thing as bad karma when it comes to one’s thoughts? And just like that, I am lost in an internal debate on the correlation between universal karma and my own fantasies. Time was when I used to thrive on these kind of internal debates. I thought it set me apart from others. Cogito, ergo sum - I think, therefore I am. Descartes had no friggin idea, when he said that. Lately I think, over–analysis is a fanged bitch with a pointy tail and I wish I could lobotomize myself and not think of anything at all. Should I act on my thoughts or musings? Will it take me further away from my life’s path? If I do this thing that I don’t really like, will I lose the chance to be all that I could be? Why did she call me out of the blue and for no reason? Does it matter that she did? Should I buy that gadget I’ saw in that magazine, knowing well that I will tire of it in no time. Would the money be better spent on something worthwhile, such as alleviating the stress of my fellow man? It seems like almost anything nowadays can send me into overthink. What’s worse is that I’m sure that I’m making up half the connections I think I observe. It seems that my life-long propensity to withdraw into personal reflection only causes me to go into a temporary catatonic state. I go around in circles and I feel incapacitated. It is also turning me into a wishy-washy conspiracy theorist. I’m just glad I don’t know enough about politics to postulate that the rise in the petrol price is government is trying to hide the fact that at they intend to nuke the rest of the world before my next birthday. It may seem strange, but I am going to make a concerted effort to think less on the little things in life. I don’t know if I can do that. GRRR.. Maybe I should just go about my business like "normal" people do, and make the best of what I currently have. Suck it in when things go wrong, and apologize when I do wrongful things to others. Maybe it is not for me to contemplate what my place is in the bigger scheme of things. I used to think that people who just go about their daily lives are clueless (dumb) and that they do not know what is important. They may actually be onto something. Perhaps it is because winter has come to my part of the world and I cannot be out there, doing the things I’d rather be doing? Yeah, that has to be it! Now… back to Paris Hilton and that desert island… do you think Tara Reid would make a better companion? (PS: NO… I am not at the start of a premature mid-life crisis!)

Not in the mood to play along.

2006-05-23T10:25:00.000+02:00

Let's rant, shall we? For no particular reason, other than I feel "it is time". Over the next few weeks as World Cup Ebola builds to epidemic proportions, it will prove to be almost impossible not to be assaulted by wave after wave of unrelenting mass hysteria. Yep, World Cup 2006 is here and you can try and run, but you won’t be able to hide from it. Football has always been a popular game and I am myself a HUGE fan, but recently it seems that unless you have football and the history of football running though your veins, you may as well have the words "social pariah" tattooed on your forehead. We are bombarded with newspaper and magazine pull-outs, match schedules, competitions, images of football heroes, flags and bumper stickers, television ads and god-knows-what-else! You can't even go to the garage to refuel without being assaulted by something football-related. I would really like to know how football has come to be viewed with this level of seriousness. I can't help thinking that a lot of this mania are due to people who are playing catch up, people who protest just a little too loudly about how much they love the game. People who feel that they are supposed to love football; and that admitting disinterest in the game is tantamount to admitting that you are a Jacob Zuma-supporter in the town of Witbank. If I have to listen to one more gushing bimbette saying,” My boyfriend and I are such big football fans!”, I swear I am going to pop a Viagra and poke her in the eye with my penis! The truth is, I am not fooled by these spontaneous non sequitur outbursts. These women, and many other people for that matter, probably hate football. Yes, they do! But right now, this is what they feel they have to do in order to belong on Planet Football. I actually like it these days when I sit down and are introduced to people who have absolutely no interest in the game of football. It means I don’t have to sit through hours of tedious, competitive repartee or being patronized by people who carry on as if they had attended or watched very football match ever played. Everyone is suddenly a friggin expert, re-hashing discussions they watched on one of the many Supersport channels or read on the sports' pages of the Sunday Times. And it is these posers, the jackasses with the replica football shirts, who always talk about Brazil and the "beautiful game", who will be sipping Brandy and Coke or tossing down yet another Castle Lager, and who has about as much insight as a lamp post on a highway, that will spoil the Football World Cup for me. The World Cup has become yet another marketing exercise making us believe that football is better with Coke Cola, Budweiser, Hyundai, MacDonalds and MasterCard, and that Adidas made the players what they are today. And to the recently converted, this is what the game has become. For me however, the single-most compelling reason to fear the World Cup 2006 has to be the fact that aging German singer Herman Grönemeyer will sing the official anthem on 9 June 2006. (Yeah I know I am over the top. Sorry... but I couldn't resist.. hehe!)

Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy!

2006-05-19T12:07:00.000+02:00

Yesterday, I was in Johannesburg’s northern suburbs, driving up and down Rivonia Road trying to find a place called Rivonia Square. I finally stopped and asked someone and they told me, Rivonia Square is on the corner of Rivonia Boulevard and 9th avenue… NOT Rivonia Road, as I had thought. Fuck me… it was a perfectly honest mistake, but I couldn’t help feeling pissed off. I hate being lost! So here is where the fun starts. I was late and in a hurry. I managed to find a parking spot opposite the mall. As I walked to cross the road to the entrance, I accidentally, cut in front of a BMW, travelling in the same direction. The street is basically a pedestrian zone and cars are travelling at speeds less than 30km/h due to the numerous speed humps in the road. I waved apologetically at the driver, smiled and continued walking. The driver of the car was however not content with my actions. I guess he was having a bad too? He rolled down his window and said to me "You really should look where you're going. I could have run you down". His tone was condescending and patronizing, but I was in a hurry and really did not have time to talk, so I said, ”Look, I am sorry about earlier, but I am in a hurry… so please, can we drop this?” He mumbled something about me being rude and an inconsiderate idiot. Even though I was late for my meeting, I turned to him and said… “You have got to be fucking kidding me, right? Are you really serious about taking this up with me, now?" I could see the guy was angry and my come-back just made it worse. His face turned red like a cartoon character and I expected stream to come out of his ears at any minute. He stopped his car on the side of the road and got out. Now we had a game on our hands! He then gave me a friggin earful about how I should be grateful that he did not run me over, and how idiots like me should not be allowed to roam the streets unsupervised. "Wait a minute here", I thought to myself! How, in God’s name, did we get to the point where he treats me like I am no longer a person? Can the guy be for real? He is also much older than I am, but more importantly, much bigger in built. Normally, I am quite good at coming up with a witty response, but this time my brain froze. I looked him in the eye and said in my most confident (arrogant) macho voice, “Oh shut the fuck up... right now! Where do you get off talking to me like that? I will rip your fucking head off!” I was hoping that my offensive tactic would scare him into letting the whole thing go. Surely, this would be the last thing he’d expect from a smaller guy like me? Hehe… yeah I am the smuggest fucker in Smugtown, so let’s see what you have to say to that, Mr. BMW!? Boy, did that one back-fire on me?! Mr. BMW looked at me for a second, and said, “Oh, so that’s the way you want to play it, huh? Just let me park my car and I will be with you in minute” When he walked away, I stood there thinking to myself, "this guy is crazy if he thinks I am going to stand here and wait for him to park his car so that he can come back and beat the shit out of me with a tire wrench. I may be an asshole, but I am not stupid!" Besides, I had a meeting to get to and I was not walking in there covered in blood and torn to pieces. What a way to spend a Thursday! So when he walked off, I briskly walked into the shopping mall and took the escalator up to the first floor. As I looked down from the first floor window, I could see him walking around the front of the building, looking for me. I almost felt I should wave at him and give him the finger, but given how angry he had to be at that moment, I reckoned it would not be a good idea. When he realized that I had gone, he'd walk back to his car and hopefully drive off. Was I a coward? Definitely… there is no doubt! I can find all sorts of clever excuses for scampering away… I had a meeting… violence does not solve anything… I was afraid I might hurt him, etc. Did I do the smart thing... I definitely think so! Truth is, I have not been in a fight since I was at university, and even back then, I was mostly drunk and had very little recollection of what had happened. I don’t know how well I can fight and I am not willing to risk a broken nose to try and find out. I knew for a fact I could not have taken him. I gave it my best shot when I told him that I will rip his head off. Unfortunately, he called my bluff and sometimes, one just has quit while you are ahead. Keep an eye out for me at the gym… I am the one taking the self-defense class. And from now on I go under the assumption that everyone suffers from rage! [PS: I await the inevitable evolution of the blog alias]

It is never as simple as it should be

2006-05-17T12:25:00.000+02:00

I had an interesting discussion with my friend, Jeannette, over drinks the other day. Jeanette firmly believes, and as much as I tried, I could persuade her to think otherwise, that if a woman flirts with a man long enough, she will eventually get him into bed. My argument was, you don’t have to flirt with a guy to get him in bed with you… all you need to do is ask! Or perhaps I was referring to myself? Ha ha... However, I must admit I found her viewpoint somewhat disturbing for three reasons, or perhaps I just loathe to admit that we men are that easy to read and manipulate.

It says that men are incapable of being faithful
Men represent only a limited challenge to women, and
All sexual relationships are inevitably doomed to fail

It is disheartening, don’t you think? It kind of makes me want to slit my wrists and give up on the notion of ever trying to impress a woman. . OK... so i I know a few guys who think that mere eye contact with a woman, or a smile is an invitation to have sex, which kind of endorses the “limited challenge” theory. On the other hand, I know that not all men are like that and that there are guys out there who search for more in a woman than just a beautiful smile or a sexy look. A major point to consider is that men and woman have completely differing ideas of what flirting is about and what we hope to get out of it. Not all flirting is with intent: it is a universal and essential aspect of human interaction, and more often than not, it is just for fun. And admittedly, there are times when it is merely a ploy to get a hearty shag. So what, I am guilty of that too! We will consciously flirt with people of the opposite sex (or even same sex...) whose company we enjoy, and this probably why so many friendships eventually turn into something more. Friendships are based on an attraction of some sorts and it does not have to be a physical one. If there is however a physical attraction, and when it is left unchecked, it is a foregone conclusion that sooner or later you will do the tango between the bed-sheets. In that case you either fall madly in love, have a horrible fall out, or leap out of bed the next morning and pretend nothing happened. Either way, things will never be the same again.

I want wings like that!

2006-05-17T11:20:00.000+02:00

My fascination with superheroes, action films and sci-fi are well documented. So, when I came across these pics on the Web this morning… I kind of went numb for a few seconds, which was quickly followed by… “this is waayyy fucking cool!” (and yeah… I will grow up some time in the next ten years... I hope)

X-Men: The Last Stand opens in theatres in South Africa on 26 May 2006. Anyone want to go to the movies with me? I'll buy the popcorn!

On the edge

2006-05-11T13:30:00.000+02:00

I always thought that when you reach a certain age, let’s say 30, everything will become clear. Things would make sense and fall into place in some sort of logical order. I mean that would the whole point of growing up, learning and maturing… would it not? Wisdom comes with age, that is what they say! I have however found that as I grow older, I seem to know less and that life around me becomes more and more complicated. The distinction between what is right and wrong has become blurred and things that were taboo yesterday, seems to be ok today, depending of course of who you speak to and who you associate with. Or perhaps I am just an exceptional fuckwit who ponders too much on the little things in life! Shit happens to all of us all the time… especially when you least expect it. And even though you do the right thing the time, there is always a niggling thought at the back of your head that says, “but what if...” About a month ago… I flirted rather recklessly with a co-worker at a company braai (BBQ). Do not ask me why a bunch of people, who see one another every day from Monday to Friday, also think that spending time together on a Saturday afternoon is a great idea. It is just sick, I tell you. And yes, I was there! The flirty conversation came to an abrupt conclusion when we both realized that we were teetering dangerously on the brink of what could be the end of a perfectly good professional relationship. Anyway, nervous apologies were made and we both felt horribly foolish and avoided one another for the rest of the afternoon. Here is the dilemma: I am torn between knowing that I have done the right thing and wondering what it would have been like. I know this probably seems like a typical male dilemma and that I really should just get over myself. Yet, I find that I now find her even more attractive than I did before the flirting and the rebuff took place. Somehow I cannot stop myself from thinking of her naked breasts (I have a vivid imagination, dammit!) every time she walks past me, now that I have spurned the chance to see them. What is it with this urge to do a test-run with someone else, even though the person we are currently with, is probably as good as it will get? Why do we always feel, speaking for myself, the need to be on the look-out for the perfect woman? Truth is, I should realise that perfect partners do not exist and that lust, in whatever form, has very little substance.

Peeling the onion

2006-05-11T00:08:00.000+02:00

I’ve been tagged and reminded by Celéste… twice ("Chitty: Yes you are tagged and don’t make a promise you cant keep" & "By the way, I'm still waiting for you to do your tag") that I had committed to participate in the “4-things” meme. Memes kind of remind me of doing a strip-tease in front of a group of complete strangers... you just never know if the audience will find it captivating. So here goes… (start the music)

Four jobs I have had in my life:

1. Selling ice-cream in an ice-cream parlour 2. Video store clerk 4. Cinema usher 3. Laboratory assistant

Four films I would watch over and over:

( I love action movies, but I will list a few others I like) 1. The Sixth Sense 2. Bram Stoker’s Dracula 3. Before Sunset 4. Fall

Four Places I have lived:

1. Stellenbosch 2. Newlands 3. Durban 4. Rosebank

Four TV shows I LOVE to watch:

1. Prison Break 2. House 3. Buffy the Vampire slayer (re-runs) 4. Alias

Four places I've been on vacation:

1. Compiègne - France 2. London 3. Buenos Aires 4. Cairo (and Barcelona)

Four websites I visit often: (other than the porno… hehe?)

1. News24 2. Wikipedia 3. IMDb 4. I visit all the sites on my blogroll… so I am not going to name anyone in particular.

Four of my favourite foods: (so many to choose from)

1. Steers Burger & Chips 2. Italian Food (pizza & pasta) 3. Texan Steak 4. Crème Brulée:

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. On a train travelling across Europe 2. On a wine farm in the Cape 3. Cycling in Barcelona 4. On a beach in Southern Italy

People who I have tagged:

1. He 2. She 3. It 4. And you! (hiding behind the your PC)

I may not have a brain

2006-05-03T10:20:00.000+02:00

Someone at work reminded me that Cinco De Mayo will be celebrated on Friday. “Really?” was all I could muster at such short notice. Then as she walked away, I asked, “Wait… cinco de Mayo is Spanish for the 5th of May, right?” “Yes, it is” “So you just told me that Friday will the 5th of May... in Spanish?” “Yeah, I guess I did”, she said. “It has however much more significance than that. Cinco de Mayo celebrates the American and Mexican's joint victory over French Napoleon III on May 5, 1862. It is a celebration of Mexican and American cooperation and the role that Hispanic Americans have played in shaping the United States.” “Oh cool”, I said, “then we should celebrate!” "Oh [K], you can be so ignorant" So at lunch time, I will walk to the convenience store across the road, and buy a large jar of mayonnaise(?) I am so ready for Cinco de Mayo, baby! I wonder if I should throw in a bottle of tequila as well? It is absolutely appalling how oblivious I am of cultures other than my own! It must be because I live at the southern point of nowhere.

¡Viva Cinco de Mayo!

[My apologies to any Hipanic/Mexican readers – my ignorance really shows]

The Friday cutie

2006-04-28T12:25:00.000+02:00

“So, how did it go?” I ask, enthusiastically, as we drove home. “I don’t know”, he said, “she seemed to have a good time, but she did not say much. I kinda felt that perhaps she wanted it to be over as fast as possible” “Well, perhaps she was just nervous. Give her a call tomorrow. I am sure she had a good time. I really think she likes you” On Thursday night the nephew took a girl out on his very first date. I had agreed to drive him and his date, as he is only 14 and not able to drive yet. He also insisted that I take him and not his mother. As he so aptly put it when he asked me, “Mom will blow this whole thing out of proportion and embarrass me in the process. It is more than I can handle for now” I guess he was right, because I got a lecture from her, on the do’s and don’ts, as if I was the one going on the date. I was somewhat bemused her reaction, although it is perfectly understandable, I guess. A parent only wants the best for their child and I knew that she was only looking out for him. "Then I guess I'd better not slip him the pack of condoms I bought on my way over here?" The lack of colour in her face said it all. When I asked him what he had planned, he said… “We are going to get something to eat and then go to a movie”, which given their age, is prolly a good choice… safe and uncomplicated. The choice of what to do can be particularly tough, because you are trying to make a good first impression and you may or may not know what your partner likes to do. Keeping it simple, is a good move. When asked if he is going to get her some flowers. I was told, “That is so retro… where have you been the last couple of years?” Apparently, I have been living in a time-bubble…. and the dial was permanently set to the 90’s! My attempts at getting a conversation started in the car were not really appreciated and I got the distinct feeling that they preferred that I shut up and drive. So I did just that. The journey home, a few hours later, was a bit more pleasant and the two of them talked, albeit in somewhat muted tones. We had a bit of a situation when we got to her house. He got out, opened the door for her, said good-night and got back into the car. ME (as he got in): What are you doing?” HE: Huh? ME: Get out of the car and walk her to the door, you moron! HE: But uncle [K], I already said good-bye to her. ME: I don’t care… walk her to the door, dammit. It is what a good date does. Trust me! He got out, ran after her and caught her just before she got to the door. He said something to her, and that is when she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. My heat was beating so fast, you’d swear I was on the date and not he. An animated “YESSS!!” may have escaped my lips. Damn… I can’t take much more of this! Dating is hard work! I am going to have to take the boy under my wing!

I have a brilliant career ahead of me

2006-04-21T10:55:00.000+02:00

There are days when you are subtly reminded that the career challenging opportunities you were hoping for, may take a while to come to fruition. This morning I attended a meeting that can only be described as, A Meeting Of The Minds…well, of one mind at least. You see, before the “historical” meeting could even commence, we had a problem right away. None of the invitees bothered to show up! There I was, alone in a room, armed with a notebook, all set to doodle or draw humping stickmen, while the others are stroking one another’s egos, and no-one bothers to show up. Not even the guy who called the infamous meeting showed up! That just proves, when the chips are down, I am truly the best the company can rally on short notice. Fortunately for me, a feast of edible goodies had been ordered for the meeting. So I just sat there for half an hour and stuffed my face with baked muffins and croissants, while contemplating why, in spite of my friend Brad’s vivid account of the events, I find the idea of having sex in an elevator just a tad sleazy. Well, there is also the matter of the g-forces generated in an elevator. At least it got my left brain talking to my right brain… so I guess there was a meeting of the minds after all. Yeah, I am in a league of my own when it comes to solving life’s all-important issues. Riveting stuff! This reminds me, I need to send an e-mail to my workmates telling them there is free food in the boardroom.

Message in a bottle

2006-04-12T15:32:00.000+02:00

[This one is at the insistence of Terri, IITQ and Zenstar] I lost my dignity on the N3 north, or at least the bit that was left of it ater falling down at the mall. It is Sunday. We had just finished shopping and what was supposed to be a half an hour drive home, has turned into a 2 hour slog. Some idiot had the audacity to drive badly and cause an accident!! Traffic was piled up for kilometres. Even worse, we are stuck in the middle lane and I… (theatrical pause)… have a pee. I tried to hold it in for as long as I could. Really. I tried. (Damn the 2 Savannas I had with lunch) ME: Uh… [S], I have a code-red emergency. I think I have to go. SHE (jokingly): Yeah right… funny. You can’t go in the middle traffic on a highway. ME (panicky): I am not joking. How far is it to the next exit? Maybe we can get off the highway there? SHE: We missed the exit. Try and hold on until we get home or at least until the next exit, will you? ME: Don’t think so. (pause) Maybe I could open the door just enough and kinda go on the side. Do you think anyone will notice? SHE: Of course people are going to notice. We’ll probably get arrested for public indecency. ME (breathing hard): Ok, I have an idea. Perhaps, I can pee in the car? SHE (shocked): You can’t pee in the car! That would be insane! ME: I don’t mean it literally. Is there a bottle around here I can pee into? What about that carton of milk we bought at the mall. I could empty it and then use it to pee in? SHE: (laughing): Now there is something I never thought I’d ’witness…my boyfriend whipping it out and peeing in a milk carton in the middle of a freakin’ highway. I am sure we’ll start moving any minute now… just hold on (long pause as reality sets in). [K], If I have to watch you pee, we are so NEVER having sex again… EVA! ME: Hon, If I don’t pee now, I will injure myself and we will never have sex again, even if you wanted to. I really, really, really have to go. I CAN’T keep it any longer and I’ll end up pissing in your car anyway. SHE: Wait! There is an empty coke bottle in the cubby (glove box). You can use that! I open the cubby and the bottle is still there. Thank God. I am still the favourite son, or so I thought. Now trying to go while sitting in a car, fully clothed, is a unique sensation. It is awkward and nasty, but then so is a grown man wetting himself. Suddenly it seems as if the whole world knows your business and is looking in your direction. I try and maintain a blasé facial expression as best I can. Whatever happened to people minding their own bloody business? Lesson 1: A man cannot pee in a bottle while sitting down in a car. His anatomy does not allow it to happen. On the other hand, if you lie back too much, you cannot see what you are doing and the bottle might overflow and spill into your lap. So I inch down as much as I can, which amounts to basically nothing. I nervously unbutton my jeans and slide it down, just enough, to allow me the necessary freedom. (i.e. free up Mr. Floppy and get it to point in the right direction) In the meantime, the girlfriend is freaking out, “will you be careful with that thing”? [I sincerely hope that she is not referring to my penis as “that thing”] “I think the woman in the car next to us, can see you.” ME: You know what, [S]… I couldn’t care less. If she wants to see my penis…let her go right ahead and look at it. She‘s so old, I bet she hasn’t seen a live one in a long time. Nothing will stop me now. Lesson 2: You’ll have trouble starting and when you do, it is difficult to control the flow. The same mechanism that prevents you wetting your bed, kicks in, and makes letting go in public, almost impossible. Anyway, I finally get it going. The strangest thing is you have this weird feeling that you are wetting yourself, even though you are doing fine. People are looking at you and they don’t suspect a thing. I am almost done, when lesson 3 kicks in. Lesson 3, which should actually be Lesson 1 as it is the most important one of all: Check the capacity of the bottle… before you go! There is nothing worse than discovering that the bottle may be too small. You hear the pitch of the flow rising and you start to suspect, “This baby is too small and it is going to overflow". Fuck! ME: Uh… [S], I think the frikkin bottle is too small. SHE: No, it is not. It is at least 500ml. Damn, now you made me look. Relax, there’s enough space. You know, this has got to be the most unglamorous thing you have ever done. ME: I am not exactly having fun, you know. You try pissing in a bottle while lying down. This is worse than that dream where you get to work and realise you have no clothes on. Finally, I am done. The world is right side up again and resumes its wobbly journey around the sun. I cap the bottle and pull my jeans back up. So now I have a coke bottle full of what looks and feels like warm apple juice. YUK! It is not a good feeling. Freaky deluxe! Mom was right after all; always go to the little boys’ room before you go on a long journey. Oh, and just in case… always keep an EMPTY bottle in the car.

Urban warriors?

2006-04-10T22:08:00.000+02:00

I was all set to write a post on something incredibly foolish I did on Sunday. I can almost hear you say…”not again”. But then I thought, dammit, just once I’d like to start the week off in a dignified manner (well, at least in blogland). So, I’ll blog about other people and what foolish things they did instead. Grown men should not (be allowed to) get into fights, especially not in daytime and in full view of a group of bored onlookers. It is just unbecoming and they come off looking like pricks, whether they win or lose. And for the love of all things dear, if you are going to fight, get on with it already! Get in there and punch the living shit out of that asshole, and then walk away like they do in the movies!! Screaming at the top of your lungs, throwing accusations back and forth and swearing like a sailor on shore-leave, just make you look like… a girl. When you are a school kid, fights are generally the biggest events of the year. Some snotty-nosed kid shouts, "Fight! There is a fight behind the assembly hall!” and like a swarm of red ants we would rush to the scene, form a circle to watch the drama unfold. Remember those days? Of course, as adults this kind of thing shouldn't happen. It does not quite have the same spectator value. I witnessed a fight on Saturday afternoon. One guy rear-ended the other’s car at a traffic light and before you could say, “love thy neighbour”, the two guys were out of their cars and going at each other like two fat people scrambling for the last doughnut at a Weight-Watchers convention. Man, it was pathetic! I was not aware the word f-u-c-k, or variations thereof, could be used in so many creatively uninspiring ways. Alluring as it was... the flying spittle, bulging eyes and angry red faces made it seem comical and unreal. The whole thing finally ended when one guy finally(!) threw a punch at the other guy. He lost his footing in the process, and ended up sprawled across the bonnet of his car. This act only gave the 2nd guy the courage he needed to tackle him, much to the amusement of the onlookers. The impromptu pantomime came to an abrupt end when the police arrived and pulled them apart. Good luck with that, officers. You are finally earning your salary. I’d lost interest by then, put my car into gear and drove away. No blood and broken bones... where's the fun in that? (Just kidding!) I cranked up the volume on the radio. Ironically, Robbie Williams was singing “No Regrets”. I guess there’d be none of that for those two guys.

Bathe that tunnel in bright light!

2006-04-06T21:06:00.000+02:00

We all know at least one person who has made a career of being unhappy. People who suck the joy out of existence and every one they come in contact with, leaving only horror and despair. In their distress, these people accuse, complain, sigh, and make it difficult for others to enjoy any moment. Their self-inflicted misery makes it hard for them to let others be happy and in their loneliness and pain; they seem to do everything possible to stay lonely. I work with someone like that. Yep, I have my very own, one of a kind dementor! (How do you like them apples, Harry Potter?). He is only 26 years old, but one would swear that he's been alive for at least twice as long. There is nothing in the world that ever seems right to the poor sod. And even when it does, he can always find a way to associate it with some negativity. None of the other people at the office enjoys making small talk with him as he can make even the weather seem like a personal tragedy. The biggest mistake you can ever make is to ask him how he is doing and give him the opportunity to respond. And for reasons, only known to him and the dark Prince he worships, he seems to think that I, yours truly, enjoy listening to his anecdotes of gloom and suffering. Damn my magnetic personality and strikingly good looks! (insert hysterical laughter) I had the misfortune of being alone in a room with him today. I tried as best I could not to make eye contact or conversation, but it is kind of hard to ignore someone when there is no one else in the room to take the heat off of you. I had to listen to a 10 minute monologue on the bad state of his health, his career and how his world had begun to fall apart, and that he was now in complete emotional peril. I mostly kept quiet, fearing that a response may spur him on to share more with me than he already had. I have empathy for his... uhm… affliction, but I cannot be his agony aunt. I may have zoned out of the conversation at some point, but I finally heard him say something about not being able to see light the end of the tunnel. ME: Oh surely, you exaggerate… it can’t be that bad? (I didn’t know what else to say!) HE: I suppose… things will get better soon. Bad luck seems to follow me around. ME: You know, Dave, perhaps you should stop waiting for the light to go on at the end of the tunnel. Peace of mind and a better quality of life are sometimes found in the gloomiest of places, but you have to be willing to flick the light switch. After that arse-numbingly uninspiring conversation, I sincerely hoped I could find the switch to turn my brain back on.

I should come with a warning label!

2006-03-30T10:16:00.000+02:00

What is it about a beautiful or attractive woman that instantly turns a man into a bumbling idiot? I wish I knew the answer. Yesterday was a good day, even by my standards. Well, that was until after I picked my nephew up from rugby practice and decided to stop off at the mall on the way back. I was running low on groceries and a quick stop-off at Woolworths would tie me over until the weekend. Even a bachelor has to eat, some time! I did not want to go looking for an empty parking space, so I headed straight for the parking lot on the roof. There’s always parking space on the roof. I found a space close an entrance and took the 3(?) sets of escalators down to the ground floor. Thinking back, I probably should have taken the lift. The mall was still fairly crowded at this hour, although most people were on their way home. Everything went well until just before I got to the ground floor. It was at this point that my guardian angel flew away to do some window shopping, because what happened next can only be described as a fluke. OK, let's stay on topic... So there I was, on the escalator… minding me own business. The nephew's a few steps in front of me and I am doing what most people do on escalators.... I watch the people on the floor below me, walk by. When suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw what could only be the most beautiful, sexiest woman on the face of the planet. Now I don’t normally go around gawking at beautiful women (yeah right), but this chica was sheer poetry in motion! She looked like one of those girls you see in the Pantene ads... a real show stopper! I swear she even walked in slow-motion and it may have been my imagination, but I could hear Joe Cocker singing, You are so beautiful To me You are so beautiful To me Can't you see You're everything I hoped for You're everything I need You are so beautiful To me [click] Fool that I am, I turned around on the escalator to get a better look at her, as she walked right by me. And as a result of this brilliant move, I am now travelling down the escalator facing... backwards. At the bottom of the escalator, there's a metal pole, just beyond the last step, to prevent people from getting on with their shopping trolleys. As I reached the bottom, the heel of my left shoe caught on the stationary bottom step and I lost my balance. In order to regain my balance, I stepped back with my right foot and bumped into the pole... with my ass. The momentum carried me backward and my arms instinctively reached out for something to hold on to. Of course there was nothing but air and, next thing I know, I landed on my ass. The heel of my other foot was still on the bottom step, just where it disappeared under the lip, and I could not stand up. In the meantime the foot was on a slow journey towards my ass and I started to look like a friggin human pretzel. Arms flailing about, and legs kicking, while people were frantically trying not to land on top of me. My nephew, who found this incredibly funny, finally managed to grab a hold of my collar and pulled me back just enough to get my foot on solid ground. That escalator was about to come alive and swallow me whole, starting with my foot. It was vicious, I tell you! Now the peculiar thing about making an arse of yourself, especially in front of a small crowd of people, is that you want to get away from the scene of the crime. And while some people are genuinely nice in asking you if you are ok, you really want them to leave you alone so that you can run away and hide in the dressing room of the nearest department store. I dusted myself off and managed to mumble a barely audible, "I’m ok”. I even managed to smile as I bravely forced the blood that had accumulated in my face back down to my chest cavity. No mean feat. The beautiful girl was of course completely oblivious of the drama that had ensued. In fact she did not even stop… just kept right on walking. How rude! The least she could have done was look back to make sure I was ok. Who am I kidding, she had no idea of the role she played in my near-untimely demise. Life is so unfair and we men are such suckers when it comes to a beautiful girl. I’ve learnt my lesson, but can I promise it won’t happen again? Probably not. I am just another bumbling idiot, after all!

A quaint act of an obsolete age?

2006-03-27T12:39:00.000+02:00

It is sometimes difficult to adapt to how the modern world functions in the face of what we were taught as children. For me, as a guy, one of the biggest obstacles is whether I should still attempt to incorporate chivalry (in its modern form) into my daily behaviour. Has women’s equality negated the need for me to be chivalrous? It honestly seems that our attempts can be interpreted as an effort to assert superiority and to return women to an inferior position in our society. I visited a client in Sandston this morning. As I stepped though the front doors of the building, I noticed from the reflection in the glass doors, a young women, of around my age, a few steps behind me. I stepped through the doors, and without giving it much thought, held it open in order for her to walk through as well. With her being so close, I thought I would be rude to let it close behind me, but most of all it just seemed like the polite thing to do. As we arrived at the security check point, she looked over to me and said, “There was really no need for you to do that, you know. I may be a woman, but I am perfectly capable of opening the door myself” My first thought was, “Could she be high at this hour of the morning?”, quickly followed by, “Isn’t 2006 a bit late to be burning your bra?” I smiled at her, shook my head and looked away. I was in fact genuinely offended by what she had just said to me. And before I knew it, the SOB who lurks inside me said, “I am sorry, miss, if my behaviour implied anything of the sort. Holding the door open was merely an act of kindness, and good manners. It had little to do with you being a woman, and more to do with you being a human being. I reserve the right to open the door for whoever’s behind me. Many people have done the same for me, and do you know what I say when they do? I say, Thank you. You are welcome to use it in anyway you choose, and thank you for enlightening me on the matter”. However, this post is not about how I managed to respond to her or why I, or anybody else for that matter, should continue to defend what obviously seems to be a retro custom. I would however like to know, how such a simple deed of unpretentious courtesy could be construed as an act of humiliation. Why is it ok for her to choose to be offended by me, but not ok for me to choose what I believe to be the right thing to do? Now I know this young woman’s reaction is probably an extreme case of post-modern feminism gone awry. Surely she would have the presence of mind to know that her autonomy as a woman or her humanity cannot be threatened by a man keeping a door open in the anticipation of her arrival? The other thing that really bothers me is, “How do I, of all people, end up in these situations?”

Was there ever any doubt?

2006-03-27T12:34:00.000+02:00

This is so funny, I just had to share it. Guarranteed to take away the Monday Blues! Link: Hooked on a Feeling

Early morning fury

2006-03-17T14:05:00.000+02:00

I know that Awards Season is over, but I have one final award I would like to dish out. The nominees in this particular category, Best Performance by An Asshole in Suburban Traffic, are numerous, but the young estate agent driving the blue Citi Golf in Rosebank this morning, is surely in a class of his own. (Dude, don’t make me post your car’s registration number and the name of your company on my blog, because I will!). None of the other nominees I encountered today comes close. He earned it by turning on his hazard (emergency) lights and suddenly stopping for a red light… which was nowhere in sight, on a suburban road in peak-hour traffic. Now that is what I call defensive driving at its absolute finest! Why wait until you see a red light. If can imagine one coming up, stop right where you are! The asswipe then got out of his car, opened the boot, and proceeded to offload “For Sale” signs onto the pavement. I was so moved by this nifty twist in the plot, I nearly cried. What an automotive magic wand hazard lights are? Their use overrides all existing traffic rules and permits you to do as you please. And if by chance you are confronted by another motorist, all you have to do is say the corresponding magic words, “Did you NOT see my emergency/hazard lights flashing?” This mind-blowing act of driving ingenuity got him nominated by the driver of the 4X4 behind him. I saw his middle finger go up as he came to a screeching halt mere centimetres from the Citi Golf’s rear bumper. The rear end of a Citi Golf would make a brilliant hood ornament on a 4X4, don’t you agree? The other drivers and I, who were also on the much-coveted selection committee, whole heartedly agreed, and without a moment hesitation declared him the undisputed winner. Middle fingers went up in the air like faster than you could ask, “Who wants to be a millionaire?” Completely overwhelmed by the nomination, and in a hurry to accept the award, his car stalled and traffic backed up fast. Within minutes it seemed like we were in Pamplona at the start of the running of the bulls. A few other motorists popped their heads out of their car windows and applauded him loudly while pressing down on their hooters. I have yet to hear so many profanities permeate the morning air. He was definitely a favourite with the crowd. We left it up to the traffic officer (for once there was one in the actual vicinity) to hand over the award. Judging by the look on his face and the hand gestures, he was completely overwhelmed. Go on, young sir… assume the position and blow me, while I bask in the glory of your driving genius.

There are days when a guy should be single

2006-03-15T15:36:00.000+02:00

The queue was long and the clerk behind the counter was doing a first-class impression of molasses on a cold day in Antarctica I smiled, she smiled back at me. She said, “Do I know you from somewhere?” I said, “I don’t think so. I would have remembered” She looked puzzled, but only for an instant, as the implication of the words sank in. She tilted her head to the side and looked me straight in the eye. An innocent gesture, yet so provocative. I returned the look as best I could, and let my eyes wander slowly over her face. It lasted a moment, but it seemed timeless. When one is confronted with beauty and sex appeal, one wants the moment last indefinitely. “I am not usually this presumptuous, but would you like to go for a drink with me?” It was a gutsy move, but then sometimes a gutsy move is all it takes to advance to the next level. Temptation, followed by hesitation. I said, “No thanks, I’ve got somewhere else I have to be. Perhaps, another time?” “Yeah, perhaps another time”, she said softly and looked away. The moment was gone. It might as well never have existed. I should have been proud of myself, but the truth is, I was not. Yet, I could not have said yes. One drink would not have quenched my thirst, not when I could feel it rise up from a place deep inside of me. Life hardly ever plays a fair game… but then, why should it? It holds all the aces. Cry me a river...

What dreams may come...

2006-03-13T13:15:00.001+02:00

Mood: reflective, so be warned! I am a dreamer. Always have been… for as long as I can remember. My mother used to say that I cannibalised my brain to feed my soul. Thank God, she did not say tortured soul, because that would have meant years of therapy. Looking back, I am amazed how my dreams have changed and how they seemed to reflect the stages of my life and the person I was at the time. I guess it is part of the natural progression of life and that dreams, in fact, mirror that journey. Years ago, in my mind, I saved the planet every day. I was the hero. I had super-human strength and powers; dashing good looks and knew the cleverest dialogue. Women adored me and men feared me... well as much as one could fear or adore a pint-sized kid with gap-teeth. Comic book heroes like Batman, Superman, and Spiderman faded in comparison. There was no evil villain I could not destroy, and no diabolical plot I could foil. When I reached my teens, my fantasies almost always involved travelling to far-off places, experiencing amazing real-life adventures and doing daring feats. Sex played a big role too… a girl I saw on the street, a face I saw in a magazine or on television, a voice I heard on the radio. I decided what was good, what was bad and how far I would go. If I did not like how a fantasy played out, I’d simply backtrack and set off in a new direction. Magical! I lived the high life. In my dreams I could have whatever I wanted and whoever I wanted. I was still king of the world, just a little more human than before! As I grew older and moved into my twenties, my fantasies were all about achieving. Making money… making it big, building an empire. I wanted the best life had to offer and become the ultimate fantasy achiever. It was about making my mark on this world and leaving behind a legacy… something people would admire and remember for years to come. Surprisingly enough, happiness was an entity that never really featured in my fantasies. It was a given. As long I got what I wanted, I was happy and so was everybody else. In my fantasies I was the single most important person in the universe. Hehe… I think they call it suffering from a god-like complex? In my non-fantasy life I did all that was expected of me. My head may have been in the clouds, but I was mature enough to keep my feet firmly planted in the bosom of Mother Earth. I knew that if I wanted my dreams to come true, I had to lay the groundwork. So I read, studied, worked hard, set goals for myself. I learnt to achieve. I had the plans and sometimes fantasy became a reality and other times, reality remained mere fantasy. In some profound moment (of which there were very few), I even learnt that despite not fulfilling my dreams, the learning process and the experience I had gained, was as important as the achievement itself. It sounds pretty silly, right? Even in those old fantasies I was mostly disconnected from reality and the people around me. Other people rarely featured, and when they did, they had no faces. They had no dimension. They were however bound together by a common thread… they were in complete awe of me. I was a three-dimensional hero in a one-dimensional cardboard world. All super heroes are loners… that is rule #1 in The Great Handbook of Superheroes (volume1). One rarely experiences failure in the fantasy world. Yet, even though I am almost always recognized and appreciated, I still remained isolated and detached, if not somewhat damaged. My fantasies were restricted to what I knew and what I was used to. These days, however, my dreams are a bit more grounded. I must be getting older?! I dream about things that can actually happen. I still hope that I could save the world, but not on a grand scale like before. I don’t want to fly nor do I want super powers. Fuck the superhero costume that shows off the bulging muscles! Spandex and a cape do not do it for me anymore... nor do knee-high boots and a freaky mask. Mostly these days, I dream that I can affect small changes in my immediate surroundings. I wish I could change someone’s life, not profoundly… just make it more bearable. So I volunteer for all sorts of causes and hopefully for the right reasons. Unlike in my dreams, there is no glamour and praise… mostly hard work and chipping away at the things that make this world we live in such a hard and unjust reality. Ha! Who am I kidding? I still hope I can do something great. The little boy inside me does not really want to let go. The adult that is me, tells me to keep it realistic… within my reach. Yet, by definition, I am still a dreamer. Are my dreams even possible? I don’t know. I’m arrogant enough to think they could be. But in order for me to do that, I have to effect changes in myself first. I know how to be honest myself. And sometimes… just sometimes, when I am really good, I am even honest with the people around me. For now I’ll keep dreaming. Who knows which one of my dreams is within my reach?

Chew on this, if you will?

2006-03-10T10:47:00.000+02:00

My computer is on the blink and everything I have tried to post, has disappeared. So, there will be no lengthy wacky post today. Instead, I have a question: Is it possible to become infatuated or fall in love with someone before you’ve met them in person and how real would this feeling be? No, I have not stepped through the looking glass and into an alternate reality and the chitster is no less sane than he usually is. It is however a loaded question and there are some events that has lead me to asking it. And yes, dear readers, I want you to respond! (I can already see KN’s brain ticking over… no doubt it will be a doozy!)

Apparently, not...!!!

2006-03-08T14:42:00.000+02:00

The Slipstream has had no posts for a while, and my apologies to those who come here from time to time, expecting something to read. [** Warning – What follows here is a rant (outburst), and should be read in that context. I tend stay away from political/racial issues on my blog, and this post was written out of frustration and helplessness. Aren’t I lucky to have a blog where I can vent? **] Tsotsi – The South African film that won the Academy Award for the best Foreign Film at the Oscars will not be shown in “white” South African malls. That is the answer I got when I went to a mall in the East Rand and enquired whether the movie is playing there. I was told that I should be able to view the movie at one of Johannesburg’s more progressive malls? WTF! What was I doing in the East Rand, you ask? Well, I had a late afternoon meeting with a client on the East Rand, and because of the heavy traffic on the way back, I elected to go to the movies thereby missing the heavy evening traffic on the N3 north. Thinking back, sitting in the traffic would have been a much better idea. Now, being told 12 years after Apartheid was abolished and South Africa became a democracy, that we still had ”white” malls, not only astounded me, but filled me with deep sadness. I reckon it is not only an insult to all South Africans, but I find it offending that an entertainment company basically chose to take away the right of white South Africans living on the East Rand to decide for themselves whether this award winning South African film is worth watching. Looking around at the people in the mall, I could see a mixture of all races… Black, White, Coloured, Indian and Asian. So I came to the only logical conclusion I could reach. The Mall is not white, only the section that belonged to Ster Kinekor East Rand Mall is. I also came to the conclusion that it was all about the bottom line and which films would make more money at the box office. Whether it had any artistic or cultural value had no role to play in this scenario. But rather than admitting that, they chose by their action to label the residents of the East Rand as racist and took away their choice. If they had told me the “truth”, I would have I would have been more inclined to see their point. In order to satisfy my curiosity, and to be able to their decision in its proper context, I asked whether Brokeback Mountain and TransAmerica will be showing there. I was told it would be. Really? So the staunch, yet racist and prejudiced “white”Afrikaner community of the East Rand is wiling to see movies dealing with homosexuality and transgender issues (No offence meant to any of my readers. I am merely trying to illustrate the point), yet cannot deal with a South African movie because it is deemed too black? Yeah, I can totally see Oom Hendrik and Tant Sarie taking their whole family to see two cowboys making out on the big screen or watching a Felicity Huffman play a man who wants to be a woman. Can it get any more “white Afrikaner” than that? Strangely enough, they have no problem with showing black American movies featuring black American actors. I mean is black OK, just as long as they are not South African? Is that what you are telling me, Ster Kinekor? I don’t know where I am going with this post or what I am to achieve with it. I honestly believed that we had come a long way since 1994. Perhaps, I am going off the deep-end with my little diatribe? It does however seem to me that some of the basic principles of what is a democracy is, have been violated by Ster Kinekor. The right of the people to choose and the right to no censorship. Perhaps Tsotsi would not have drawn big crowds and packed theatres on the East Rand. They do however have 8/9 theatres in the complex – would it be too much if one of the smaller theatres screened Tsotsi for one weekend, perhaps? It won the Oscar after all! It is strange that a film like, Tsotsi – written and directed by white South Africans would receive international acclaim in countries like the USA, UK and in Europe, but back home, this uniquely South African story depicting a slice of life in South Africa, does not receive the recognition it deserves. Charlize Theron is by her own admission a farm girl from the notorious Oos-Rand. I wonder what she would day? Enlighten Me!! Puhlease...

What a tangled web we weave...

2006-03-01T22:05:00.000+02:00

"You are a dishonest little shit!" I did not quite know if I truly deserved all the abuse that was lavished upon me. Apparently, not only am I dishonest, but I also stand accused of being a liar and a master of deceit. Now deceit is hardly something one can be proud of, but when you put it together with master, admittedly, the words do have a certain measure of appeal to them. What was even more disturbing; these words were being said to me by my very own mother! The woman who had raised me and who had given me life. Never in a mllion years would I have expected her to be so critical of me. After all, I am her son, and even though I may not have been the best of son's, one always hoped that a parent would be more understanding of their children. It is a near impossible task trying to appease a member of your own family, especially when they come face to face with the horrible evidence of your lies and deceit. There is really nothing you can do to redeem yourself. The evidence was right there and it spoke for itself. Look, I am not proud of what I had done. But I did it out of love, and I would do it all again if the circumstances called for it. Yes, I have deceived her. I lied to her, strung her along and I was not honest with her for the entire time she was with me. But I only acted under instructions. I was a mere pawn in this intricate game and my cruel masters had the upper hand. After all, it was her birthday. How else could my dad, the siblings and I surpise her with a celebratory breakfast? The look of surpise on her face, and the tears of joy as she grabbed my arm and called me a "dishonest little shit"... now it doesn't get any better than that, does it?

Sucker punch

2006-02-24T10:25:00.000+02:00

I have to post something, because I do not want to see the SA Blog Awards logo from the previous post. Every time I visit the page, it seems to jump out at me from the monitor and shouts, “Boo!”. Unnerving… Someone told me a yawner today. A yawner is what I call a joke that has a good storyline, that reasonably holds your interest, but when you hear the punch-line, it is like a sucker punch. All you really want to do is roll-over and play dead, much like Fido does, only in a more dramatic fashion. Now that would be really funny. Is it ok not to laugh when someone tells you a really crappy joke? Or is it less ok, to dig in deep and muster up all the courage you have left, fake a boisterous laugh and say something like, “Oh, man that was good” ? My colleague, Deon, (I call him Spyker) is really not a very good joke-teller. I hadn’t really given it much thought, until this morning, when obviously in awe of the fact that it is Friday, he tried to brighten up my morning by telling me a joke he heard on the radio. He was ok at telling the story, but it when it came to delivering the punch-line, he was a disaster. I kept wondering why he did not leave the joke for when we have a drink after work… at least the alcohol would numb the pain. He kept trying to explain the punch-line to me by saying, “Well, the point of the story is… “ I did not have the heart to tell him that one should never try to explain the punch-line. A good punch-line needs a good build-up, and when you get that right, you’ve got a winner. So In honour of people who tell crappy jokes, here are my three favourite punch-lines:

Everybody knows she's 30, so why are there only 25 of us here?

Hurry -- it's depreciating rapidly.

Moooooooo!

Alright, I’m done here. Yeah, I crack me up too. Really I do. Now, what was the joke again?

Awards Season!

2006-02-23T12:04:00.000+02:00

Voting opened yesterday in the 2nd Annual SA Blog Awards. All of my favourites have been nominated; Somenoone, Ekapa, Terri’s Web Stuff, Tenmiles, Aquila online, Reluctant Nomad, Kyknoord, IITQ, Gabbahead, Gosu, Big Ric, Jo’blog, Splattermail, and many, many more. I urge you all (bloggers and visitors, alike) to take part and cast your votes in this prestigious event. It is all in the spirit of generating healthy competition amongst South African bloggers. You can vote every day, for all of your favourites, until voting closes at midnight on 3 March 2006. Democracy at its finest! Oh, and the Chitster has been nominated too. Apparently, there are a few people out there, who believe that I am funny and that my writing is worth shit. So mosey on over there, and vote! Pronto! Ok, I am about to have a kanipshin fit, so let me leave you in peace. As you were, soldiers!

A year of Riding The Slipstream

2006-02-22T11:36:00.000+02:00

It has been a year since ChittyChittyBangBang (not the car!) first appeared on the blog scene and commenced with riding The Slipstream. 208 posts later, and he is still nowhere close to being any good at it. He started out rather tentatively (and lamely?) when he announced to the world on 22 February 2005, that he had just bought his first Apple iPod. Ground-breaking news that had his tally of zero visitors gasping for breath… or perhaps NOT. More likely that it was a collective YAWN. Yep, our man was not off to a smooth start and it seemed he may have encountered some turbulence early on. He followed this up with more loose snippets and finally on 25 February 2005, posted something worth reading, mourning the death of a childhood friend. He also raved about stupidity, which as it later transpired, is something he is seemingly quite familiar with. March was rather uneventful, but he managed to discover Flickr and added Haloscan comments to his blog site. Is our boy ambitious or what? Yeah, he actually anticipated that someone may one day want to leave a comment on his blog. And so they did. The very first comments he received was from a young Filipino girl and… the inimitable Michelle, in a post that showed us just how proud he is to be a South African. It also become abundantly clear that he does not like people talking to him in supermarket queues, preferring to sip vodka Martinis instead. In April, feeling much like the autumn weather in his native country, we saw his humanitarian side emerging as he shared with us the compassion he has for his fellow man and his apparent has gift for embarrassing himself in public. Yeah, some people will do anything to get a little attention. And to prove to us that he seemingly keeps up with current events, he blogged about the Da Vinci code and his respect for an insignificant man by the name of Tony Robins. May saw Chitty going into overdrive with a post on the one and only, Oprah. We also discovered that he is a compulsive liar, and deeply religious. He has an irrational childhood fear of dead people, likes to flirt and has a calm, yet steadfast demeanour in the workplace. We got to meet his nephew, Keenan, in the first of many posts. At this stage, I only have two words for you… child welfare. In June, he blogged the love has for cold weather, the office bimbo and he pondered the link that may exist between masturbation and bad eyesight. Uh yeah… riveting stuff. Our man also got tagged for the very first time, and he told us a few about himself that would have been better left unsaid. July was a bit of a mixed bag with further posts about the nephew (again), another irrational childhood fear of escalators and lifts, and the joys of parenthood. We also got to know that Chitty actually has a girlfriend, yeah women actually like the guy, and that he does have a backbone. In August, we learnt that he can keep a secret, even when under immense pressure from UK and Ireland. We learnt that he may have been a merman in a former life and that he is under the impression that he can walk through glass. We also discovered that he is into theme parties and that he is thrilled to be a man. Chitty also has a hidden talent; he could quit his day-job and become a gossip columnist. September, the month of his birth, saw him battling with insomnia; contemplate his life and career, and breaking traffic rules. The guy is like ping-pong ball at a Chinese recreation centre… all over the place. He tried to give us a glimpse of his more manly side by flirting with a waitress, shooting paintball and chatting up airline stewardesses. Our man chitty is also an absolute whiz in the boardroom and has an overactive imagination. In October, he taught us all about the apparent art of burning bridges and how not to fix a household appliance. In a surprise post, we learnt that our man also has a heart of glass and he also blogged about his dependence on woman. Yep, he truly is a man’s man. Although I think he may have stepped through the looking glass when he disclosed 20 random things about himself. November saw him contemplating the plight of the homeless and in a yet unprecedented act of patriotism, he bled for his country. He was tagged once again and it also became clear that he has not quite mastered the art of speaking on the telephone. During December, we learnt that he hates shopping for gifts and that he may have unwittingly flirted with homosexuality. Yikes! January saw him terrorising a woman at his local supermarket and we got to meet another member of his family, his dad. For some unbeknownst reason our man actually feels that he should actually respond when his girlfriend talks to him and that he can be a surrogate father to his nephew. A compulsion, which I suspect, may yet lead to the downfall our clumsy hero! Yep, it has been quite a year for our friend, ChittyChittyBangBang. He mellowed out duing the course of the year and the anger and profanities that used to litter his earlier posts, have all but disappeared. Now, if only, we can get him to cut the crap and really start blogging.

HAPPY BLOG ANNIVERSARY!!

[My haloscan account archives all comments after a period of ninety days. Don’t be alarmed when you re-visite some of the posts and find that your comments have disappeared. They have not been deleted]

Here today, and gone tomorrow?

2006-02-20T21:37:00.000+02:00

How does one say good-bye in cyberspace? In the past few weeks I have noticed that a number of my favourite South African (and international) blogs have simply disappeared. In truth, I only noticed this when I started trawling the web for nominations for The 2nd South African Blog Awards. The blogs did not exactly disappear, but the bloggers have either stopped writing or post intermittently and infrequently. Now I am sure the bloggers in question have perfectly good reasons for not blogging anymore. With The Slipsteam nearing its one year anniversary, I have thought about whether I want to continue with this blog for another year. It is not that I have nothing more to say or that I have run out of embarrassing anecdotes to share. I do. Yet, for all the good bloggging has done for me and the many online friends I have made, one cannot be expected to blog indefinitely, can we? However, this begs the question, when blogging comes to an end, how exactly does one go about doing it? Will a simple farewell post do, and is there an obligation to say goodbye? Should one let the blog and it archives remain to gather electronic dust like a long forgotten book on a shelf or simpley delete it all? Will the web eventualy become a graveyard of abandoned and forgotten blogs? Every blog has a regular circle of visitors and "commentators(?)", and as time goes by, friendships are forged and we come to expect the presence of certain people on our blogs. If not for anyone else, do we owe them a reason, a good-bye, perhaps a farewell e-mail? There really are no protocols to be followed, or a right and a wrong way of doing it. In fact, there is no obligation to do anything at all. In the absence of actual physical contact, online friendships are easily severed, and we can distance ourselves from those we have not seen. There really is no obligation to continue with the "friendship" beyond the blogosphere. It has become as easy as pulling the plug or hitting the ever-popular delete key. Perhaps I am just overly sentimental, and perhaps I am making more of this than is necessary. Blogs are abandoned and deleted all the time... it is the nature of things in cybespace. I think I'll be around for while yet. While the party is still in full swing, I don't fancy standing outside and looking in through the window.

Any flavour you like...

2006-02-16T20:59:00.000+02:00

My regular post for today vanished! POOF! I hit the publish post button and the entire post went to the netherworld. The recover post function could not get it back, and now I have nothing. You’ve got to love technology… always full of surprises. I’m too lazy to shift back into a serious mood, so I’ll fill the void with another one of my chitty-isms. When I was studying at University, I worked at an ice-cream deli/parlour in the southern suburbs of Cape Town It was not exactly a glamorous job, but it was close to home and the extra money helped to fill the gaps. The clientele consisted mostly of suburban Moms, Dads and their snotty offspring, foul-mouthed teenagers, students and the lovesick adolescent couples. Depending on the staff rotation, I would either work the “restaurant” floor or the take away (out?) section. Since I was a “varsity” student, I also got to man the till (register). The responsibility was almost too much for me to handle… hehe. On this particular afternoon, I was manning the take-away section, dishing up soft-serves and ice-cream cones with various toppings to ungrateful teenage girls and their equally snotty high school boyfriends. Saturdays were particularly busy days. My feet ached, I was tired and the mere sight of an ice-cream cone was enough to send me into a coma. There is no joy in a customer service job and don’t let anyone make you believe there is. Fake smiles, fake thank you’s and fake perkiness. The perfect job! At around 5pm that afternoon, a girl with wavy dark hair and green eyes walked in. Pretty. A hippy-chick. I had seen her around, maybe once or twice. I reckon she was perhaps a year or two years older than I was. She had an air of self-assuredness about her that made her seem very exotic. She walked over to me and proceeded to look at the menu card that lay on the counter in front of me. I made eye-contact and asked with all the perkiness I could mustersaid to her, “Can I help you, miss?” She looked up at me and said, “Yes, can I have a large vanilla with caramel topping, please?” Oh boy, I thought, yet another one of those customers who wants what is not on the menu. People like this make me want to swallow a Cadbury’s Flake, and choke on it. I explained to her that we do not serve ice-cream by size. She could have one, two or three scoops, etc. If that was not ok, she could take a cup of ice-cream or even a tub depending on how large she wanted it to be. She interrupted me while I was talking, and asked me how tall I was. “5ft11 give or take…”, I said, with a puzzled with a look on my face. She looked me straight in the eye, smiled and said “Funny thing, that is exactly the scoop-size I had in mind” “We don’t serve… vanilla in 5…”, I said. The penny dropped. My mouth went dry and I blushed. “I’m sorry, but I think we are all out of vanilla”, I finally managed to say. “Pity”, she said, “I hear it goes well with strawberry” And with a coy smile she turned around and left. I have to go back to Cape Town! (You think perhaps she listened to one too many sixties songs?)

Conversations with the girlfriend

2006-02-13T21:14:00.000+02:00

I lost out to the girlfriend again last night… well, perhaps not entirely, but to some degree I think I did. Here’s how it went down… SHE: Do you believe that a man and a woman can ever be “just friends?" [Almost immediately the “proceed-with-extreme-caution” alarm in my head went off and I eyed her with suspicion. This was a loaded question and the barrel was pointed at my head] ME: Uh… you have to give me more details. In what context are you asking the question and are you referring to a person or a situation in particular? SHE (laughing): No specific context or reference to anyone in particular. I am just asking in general. This is something that has been bugging me for a while and I just want your perspective on it. ME (putting on my game face): Well, in that case... I suppose that theoretically and under a specific set of circumstances, a platonic relationship can exist. But generally speaking, and in my opinion, I do not believe it can happen. SHE: Why do you say that? ME: Well, platonic love by definition excludes any form of physical attraction or sexual interest, however remote it may be. And speaking as a man, if there is a slightest chance of physical interest or sexual interest, we are basically incapable of just being friends with someone of the opposite sex. We can be friends, but not “just friends”. SHE: I don’t follow what you mean. ME: I believe that men fundamentally develop friendships with the opposite sex when there is an element of attraction present, and in most cases, the attraction is physical. SHE: So you are saying, that for a man friendship goes hand in hand with a degree of attraction. Even if he admires her for intellect or ability, it could manifest itself sexually or physically on some level and that with the attraction being there, a purely platonic friendship is not possible? Interesting point… ME: It is not quite as simple as that. If a platonic relationship is all that we could ever hope to have with a person, like a relative and where a disability or circumstances prohibit us from pursuing anything further than a platonic relationship, then I suppose it is possible. SHE: But when there are none of these present, a man would chance on taking the friendship to another level, whether it is a friend, the boss’s wife or the girl working in the next office? ME: Now you are just making it sound cheap & dirty. Say for instance one does not act on the physical attraction, but we fantasise or have, let’s say improper thoughts about another person, then surely the relationship is for all practical reasons no longer platonic? SHE: In other words, only if the thought of touching someone fills you with repulsion, or makes your skin crawl, yet you share a special bond with that person, then this is the only time this affinity can be deemed platonic. And we all know in real life these cannot feelings cannot exist side by side. ME: In essence, yes. I wouldn't go as far as saying repulsion, but you basically have to feel almost nothing. Even in a so-called platonic relationship there is a degree of hidden sexual attraction. Remember we are speaking in general terms and even if you are best friends with someone, can you deny that they are of the opposite sex and that there are some physical aspects in them that you find appealing? SHE: Yeah I get it. Pure platonic love can only exist in the complete absence of an attraction… provided it is platonic on both sides? ME: Being "just friends" may be a contradiction in terms. There may be an attraction or even sexual tension with a person whom we regard as just a friend. In many cases, the tension and playful flirting is the fuel the drives the friendship. At this point, her sister came to visit and we ended the conversation. I was more than a little relieved at the interruption. She has cleverly (cunningly?) managed to steer the conversation away from providing me with a woman’s perspective on the subject. I think I lost the “debate” when I stated men are incapable of having a platonic relationship. All of the rest was just the gf baiting me while I backtracked and attempted to regain some self-respect on behalf of the male species. She had given me enough rope to hang myself with, and I was doing a splendid job of it, while she planned to move in for the kill at the appropriate moment. (Am I a little paranoid?) All I have to do is to find a way of preventing the subject from ever coming up. And if it ever comes up, I'm letting her do the talking. Nevertheless, I have to admit that it was quite an intense topic of discussion. I wonder what other people think… can a man and a woman have a pure platonic relationship completely devoid of any physical attraction and when do we cross that imaginary boundary?

The week that was

2006-02-12T21:27:00.000+02:00

So what have I been doing the past week? Well. I wish I could say I spent the week in a posh hotel while soaking up the sun on a tropical beach. Unfortunately, I am not that blessed. Every so often, I am exposed to the ugly side of my job. Either through my colleagues, my own stupidity or through demanding clients who consider the making of unreasonable and selfish demands an exclusive privilege. Yep, the dark side of humanity occasionally reveals itself in an unflattering light. Behaviours that are best suited for the sandpit at the playground are exhibited among responsible adults in positions of power. I spent the whole of last week reworking a number of proposals that were rejected by a client a few days before the deadline. I can excuse myself by stating that the late rejection was completely inappropriate since the client was kept fully abreast of what was happening, and had agreed to the creative approach and strategy in advance. It does however seem that someone saw this project as an opportunity to make a name for themselves. In the process of doing so, vital communication was not shared and decisions were made with complete disregard for the chain of command. Needless to say, there was a lot of screaming and yelling, back and forth accusations, passing the buck and threats. Don’t the threats just beat all? All of which culminated in me spending many hours at the office and not getting much sleep for three nights in a row. Two of the three nights in question were actually spent sleeping at the office. I know every nook and cranny of the office in much the same way as a death-row inmate would know his prison cell. Have you ever tried to sleep or fallen asleep in an office chair? Manufacturers may boast about how ergonomical and comfortable they are, but they certainly aren’t meant to be slept in. It may take many visits to the chiropractor to realign my spine and the outline of a paperclip may permanently be etched into my right cheek. I will know the outcome of all my hard work later today when the client comes back with a final decision. Whatever the outcome may be, I know I did the best I could under the circumstances. I do not have the stomach to play political games nor do I have the energy to resort to prima donna-like antics. Whilst the ugly side of work is expected to rear its head at times, I have made my choices long ago. I chose not to give it voice or credence in my life. Now can somebody tell me how I can regain all those hours of personal time? I am leaning towards time travel, my time machine is at the garage having a new gyroscope fitted.

Miscellaneous bits and pieces

2006-02-03T13:35:00.000+02:00

It is Friday and I’ve got the end-of-summer lurgies. Miserable and sick and at home courtesy of the two (maybe more) weeks of rain and thunderstorms we had in Johannesburg. I tried one of those 24-hour cold and flu cures. The name already tells you it may not work, since there is no cure for the common cold. Anyway, it involves taking 8 tablets over an eight hour period. I fell asleep after taking the first 3 tablets and only woke up 2 hours later. So in order to stay with the program, I took 3 tablets. Dumb Move!! For the next hour I was as high as a kite and may have had long and intimate discussions with the blue fairy who resides in the fourth dimension. The meds finally wore off and now I feel worse than before. I am actually thinking of renting myself out as a snot-vending machine (I know… gross), but it may be a short-lived career and the perks aren’t that good. Outofctrl and jarvenpa have cast the “five weird habits” meme on me. Now I am already as weird as can be (read more here) and any reader of this blog will know that I do not need any help in embarrassing and “revealing” myself. But since they asked so nicely, and because I am feeling a little guilty, I have decided to play along. I am not going to tag anyone. This meme has been around for quite a while and I reckon most ppl came across it in one form or the other. So without further delay, let the strip-tease begin… 1. I am not particularly religious, but I pray nearly every day because, if nothing else, I do not want to tempt fate and I recognize that I don’t have all the answers. 2. I use the word “basically” a lot in conversations. 3. When I come across a good book or a really nice song, I’ll encourage all my friends or family members very strongly (as in, I insist) to read it or listen to it too. 4. I read magazines and newspapers back to front. I find it easier to turn the pages that way. 5. When I get my hands on a push-button pen, I will click it continuously. It really annoys people around me, but I cannot help myself. Since I had all that free time on my hands, I visited the Apple website and came across this gem: Apple iPod Socks - Dress your iPod up in any one of six vibrant colour socks (green, purple, grey, blue, orange, and pink). This set of knit socks provides a stylish, fun, and practical way to protect your iPod. For use with all iPod models except iPod shuffle. So add a dash of colour to your iPod with iPod Socks, the year's cosiest and most vibrant iPod accessory. At $29.00 for a pack of six, I am thinking it is a rip-off. I can get my grandmother to knit me one of these in no time at all and for much less. I find the idea of dressing up my iPod a little weird. It is prolly no more so than buying a case for you cell phone. Perhaps it is the woolly bit that gets to me? Just for fun: The Penis Song by Brad Pitt and Edward Norton. The title says it all. How to fold a shirt in Japan. I’ve actually seen something similar in a television ad to promote the launch of a new South African magazine. And here’s one for the budding artists amongst us. Go here and let your imagination run wild.

Carpe Diem!

2006-01-31T11:21:00.000+02:00

“Just let it go!” said the voice in my head. “Just pay and get out of here“ But letting go is not that simple. There are situations that require one to take immediate action. They need to be addressed, exploited, decisions have to be made and plans put into place to achieve the desired outcome. Sometimes these circumstances are beyond your control and yet you feel compelled to do something about it. The little voice inside your head tells you to stand clear and to accept, to force yourself to forget. Surrender the powerful emotions which compel you to take action. The path to inner peace can be fraught with moments of weakness. The road that has to be taken can be long and arduous. There are many obstacles and potholes along the way and the ground may be uneven. Something or someone may trip your balance. We get caught up in the labyrinth of people moving around us, we lose our step; we stumble and lose our way. Emotions can be dealt with in a more discrete manner. We can channel our energy creatively to another medium. Step out of this world and into an alternate reality, focus on other situations. Act on a fantasy and explore feelings in a safety zone where they are easier to face and through the magic of words which will never be spoken. But just sometimes, words can be spoken and a helping hand can be extended. And by dong so, we can help someone along their way. “Erm… excuse me, miss”, I said without any hesitation. She looked up from the magazine she was reading and put down the pen she held in her hand. A tired expression on her face, one that has been honed and perfected through years of practice. It is an expression that matches the indifference with which she treats the people who cross her path daily. “You have ballpoint ink all over your mouth and front teeth” A look of complete shock and disbelief in her eyes. If it wasn’t for the counter top, her jaw would have hit the floor and bounced back up to the ceiling. The shop went quiet and the two teenagers standing behind me roared with laughter. Mission accomplished. Yep, I am as bad as they come.

The dog is still a puppy

2006-01-26T20:36:00.000+02:00

I have a brand new pet peeve. I detest people who ask me, “So… how’s the new year going?” I don’t know how the new year is going. The new year is only FOUR weeks old and although the first pay-day is upon us, I suppose it is going like any other year…. SLOWLY and one day at a time. I’m still broke from spending all that money over the holidays. My credit card looks like it fought in the Battle of Hastings and I already need another holiday. The problems of the old year followed me into the new year and I have yet to come up with a plan on how to rid myself of them permanently. Why would people even ask you a question like this? If the new year were a relationship, we’d still be in the getting-to-know-you phase. We would be bonding, falling in love and spending all our free time together. Our hearts will be filled with anticipation. And even though we may have progressed to the bedroom, I’d still be getting a boner every time I think of her. So please don’t ask me how the new year is going? Ask me a few months from now and I promise to give you an answer. I only need to get past the getting-to-know-you phase and as soon as 2006 and I become a couple, I’ll tell you. I’ll even throw in a boner for good measure. A simple, “How are you?” will do for now.

Oh joy! (part 2)

2006-01-25T10:32:00.000+02:00

I guess the follow-up post on Saturday's conversation with the nephew is overdue. Despite the tricky nature of the subject, it went remarkably well and much better than I expected. He’s a good kid and we get along fine .Of course I had him helping me clean up the garage first, while I contemplated the all-important next move. Help in breeching the subject came from an unexpected source… television. I was all set on using KN’s amusing, yet unorthodox approach when television provided the all-important opening. We were watching an Australian Open women’s singles match when he commented on their muscular forearms. Hehehe… figure the hormonal teenager to notice all the finer details of competitive women’s tennis. Me: Yeah, I hear vigorous exercising of a particular muscle group can do that to you. He giggled: Is that why your mouth is so big? From putting your foot in it? Me (Laughing out loud): Keep that up and you’ll be following in my footsteps. But since you hardly ever exercise, I reckon you aren’t in danger if that ever happening to you. Although your mom mentioned that you have been getting a lot of forearm action lately. [All out laughter. He throws his hands up in the air and covers his face.] He: I guess it is all out in the open then? Mom spoke to you, didn’t she? I had a hunch she may talk to you about that. I’m just glad that she did not take it upon herself to talk to me. Our last conversation about sex is something I never want to do again… ever. Me: You know your mom does the best she can, but I share your sentiments. She can be a bit over the top. He: I knew I should’ve locked my door. Me: Next time try the bathroom (more laughter). To be honest, I was quietly amazed at how calmly he approached the whole thing. No theatrics, to denial. Cocky (excuse the pun) little bastard! He: I am embarrassed, but I am not going to lie to you. My buddies and I talk about what we do all time. Discovering that our penises (he used another word) are much more than something you pee with, is kind of a big deal. There is quite a bit of forearm action going on. Me: I understand. You know of course that you don’t have to beat it death in one go. It may not seem like it now, but there is a lot more to becoming a man than being sexually active. (Awkward silence) I did not want to break it to him that the ongoing fascination with sex and his penis would last for quite a long time. Come to think of it, men never really get over it. What followed was a long and candid discussion on the subject. I‘m not going to go into detail. It is amazing how much kids learn from other kids. When you put all of their bits and pieces together, the truth is basically in there somewhere. Television, cinema, MTV and magazines pretty much demystified what was once a forbidden subject. It took me back to my own adolescent days when sex was pretty much all my mates and I talked about. We had us a good laugh at the myths surrounding sex and masturbation. He was actually much more concerned about how he should act around girls. What should he talk to them about. When is it ok to ask a girl out and to kiss her. Believe me, whipping it out and getting naked with a girl is not the most important thing on their minds. It may get to that stage soon enough, but right now it is all wishful thinking. In reality, 13 year olds aren’t comfortable enough with their own sexuality to jump to the next level. I tried to make him understand that I realise there is a lot of pressure from his mates to do certain things. Hanging out at the mall, smoking, drinking, doing drugs… and getting a girl. He should not feel compelled to do anything he does not feel comfortable with. Doing what he knows is right and acting responsibly is far more important. There is lots of time to grow up and become a man. It is ok for him to still be a boy… and kicking my ass in a game of Tekken 5 (A martial arts combat game for PS2). I got off easy, I think. He is more mature than I give him credit for. Growing up without a father can do that to you. I’d also like to think my status as the “cool uncle” made it easer for him to talk openly. I can only hope that I will have the same open relationship with my own kids one day. Yeah rght!

Where's my parachute?

2006-01-23T13:49:00.000+02:00

In every profession there is a small group of people who regard themselves as being the best at what they do. Not only do they regard themselves as being the best, they firmly believe that if they weren’t able to make something work, then no one else will. Are they however satisfied with knowing this about themselves? No, they have to rub your nose in it, just in case there is small chance that you may have overlooked this minor detail. Been there, done that and did a bloody good job of it too, that is their motto. To illustrate their point, they will inundate you with quaint anecdotes of how and why it did not work out before. What they are really saying is that they do not believe that you could pull it off. The tone and manner in which they speak to you takes care of any doubts you may have had. Just short of rejecting your idea outright, they will always end off with a smug, “Please don’t let me stop you from having a go at it. Perhaps there is something we overlooked and perhaps you could make it work for you”. How’s that for encouragement and for being supportive?! Disdain dressed up as compassion. I came across someone like that today. I put forward what I thought was a brilliant concept (aren't they always?) to bring in new business for the company. I presented my concepts to a person whom I thought could give me some perspective. What I got instead was a half an hour history lesson on how it has been tried before. I came away from this encounter feeling battered and bruised and a lot less tall than when I went in. I haven’t given up on my idea, yet, but the enthusiasm to push forward with it has taken a considerable nose-dive. Having had an hour to reflect on what has been said; I am going back to the drawing board and iron out a few kinks in my plan. I still believe it can be done. All that is needed is a fresh approach, a creative sales/marketing strategy and an insight into what makes the target group tick. Screw the old coot! I have to try this for myself. If don’t, I am never going to be able to look at myself in the mirror. And I so like looking at myself, especially first thing in the morning when I look at my absolute worst, with the knowledge that my day can only get better from that point onwards. The chitster bounces back! Even when there is a really good chance he may end up at the bottom of a huge pile of smelly dung.

Death of a superhero

2006-01-20T14:44:00.000+02:00

I got stung by a bee this morning and may have lost my superhero status in the process. Judging by the angry red welt in the middle of my chest, my powers weren’t particularly impressive to begin with. A bee got trapped between the curtain and the window. Being the superhero that I am, I thought I’d be helpful and allow the little fellow to escape. Besides the constant buzzing was getting on my last nerve and I did not have a can of insecticide spray handy. So I got up and opened the window on the side panel, hoping that the fresh air would lure him to the outside. Not so! He just kept on flying up and down the window, colliding with it and making that awful buzzing noise. Insects are stupid in that way. I got hold of a piece of paper and tried to shoo him along. A fat lot of good that did me! Instead, the little fellow climbed onto the piece of paper and just sat there. All activity ceased. I reckon he was prolly catching his breath before his next assault on the window pane. Realising that he was clearly not going to do this on his own, I placed the piece of paper in front of the open window. He caught a whiff of the fresh air, rose up on his little legs and launched himself into the air… straight at me. I tried to wave him away with my hands and that’s when it happened. I knocked him out of the sky and he fell down the front of my shirt. (The top two buttons were unbuttoned) The next moment I felt a sharp pain and I instinctively clutched my hands to my chest. In the process I squashed the little bee. All that was left of him was a brownish wet stain on the front of my shirt. I managed get the shirt off and pulled the sting out. There are no medicines in the office, so I ran to the bathroom and splashed water on my chest. It hurt like a bitch! The office receptionist heard all the commotion and came over to help me. I explained that a bee had stung me. She ran over to her workstation, grabbed a bottle of perfume from her purse and sprayed it directly onto the affected area. She explained that the alcohol in the perfume would soothe the pain and disinfect the wound. (I didn’t know that!) What I can tell you, is that it burnt like hellfire! AARRRGGGHH!!! I saw hundreds of bright shiny objects floating around the room. Soon after she rushed to the pharmacy down the road and came back with insect bite ointment and some band aids. I now have a third, rather angry-looking nipple in the middle of my chest. Guess I won’t be showing off my pecs any time soon. Damn that bee. I want my mommy!

Hear ye! Hear ye!

2006-01-19T12:09:00.000+02:00

It is that time of the year again and the blogosphere is abuzz with the news that voting in the 2nd Annual Best of Blogs Awards has begun. One of my favourite Canadian blogs has been nominated in the ‘Best Photo/Art/Poetry Blog’ category. She has slipped into third place and in need of a little help. This is a shameless (is there any other kind?), yet unprompted plug by me on her behalf, and I can assure you that she is an amazing artist and would be a well-deserved winner. So, go to the Best of Blogs website and vote for Andrea’s blog. Pronto! I said so!

Conversations with the girlfriend

2006-01-18T16:01:00.000+02:00

“Women care nothing for our male logic: They have their own, which we do not recognize and do not acknowledge until we are crushed under its wheel” – paraphrased from the quote by Ivan Turgenev The place - Sunday morning at the breakfast table She: You know my friend, Tanya? Me: Yeah, sure. I met her last Saturday over at your place. She: Do you think she’s hot? Me: Uhhh… maybe… I mean she is not ugly, if that’s what you are asking. She: Would you go out with her? Me: NO! I’m with you! Why would I want to go out with another woman? That would be insane. She: But what if you and I weren’t together… would you go out with her then? Me: I suppose I m-a-y consider it. Anyway, why do you care if I think Tanya is hot? She: So then you admit it, you think she’s hot then? Me I did not say that. Forget what I said. I won’t even consider it. She : Then what are you saying? Me: I am saying I am stupid little man and I should learn to keep my mouth shut. She: Good idea. You are digging yourself into a hole. Me: How’s that even possible? You’re the one who brought it up. She: And you are the one who thinks she’s hot. Me: Did I mention that you are waayyy hotter than she is and that I love you with all my heart? (All I get I in return is a barely audible grunt) Women! When do we ever get to taste victory?

Oh joy!

2006-01-16T13:35:00.000+02:00

Sex has always been a dicey subject for me and when my sister asked me to speak to my nephew on the subject; I was more than a little alarmed. ME: There is no way you can expect me to do this! No way! He's your son. What on earth makes you think I am equipped to talk to him about this? SHE: In case you haven’t looked in the mirror lately… you are a man and I’d rather have you speaking to him about this than his father. (She’s divorced and the Ex is persona non grata. She is still not over the fact that he walked out on them) ME: [V], he is turning 14 this year. It may be a bit presumptuous of me, but common sense tells me you should have talked to him about sex and puberty over a year ago. ‘Coz if you haven’t done so by now, I am sure he already got the short and sexy version from his mates at school. SHE: Of course I spoke to him about puberty and sex. It was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever had to do and at the end of it we both agreed never to bring it up again. Hence, I am asking you. M (laughing): Ok… so what you need me for? SHE: Well, I walked past his room this morning and I think he was… (She leans forward and whispers to me) uhm… masturbating. ME (somewhat surpised): Masturbating? Oy! (At this point I am thinking, "way too much information on the nephew". I wanted to ask how she came to this conclusion, but thought it better not to know the inimate details) SHE: Yes. And will you stop laughing? This is serious. ME: Uhhh... yeah… whatever you say. What do you want me to say to him? Would you rather he has unprotected sex with girls his age? Considering the alternatives, masturbation is safe and harmless and I am sure all the boys of his age are doing it. Come on, he’s only experimenting, for crying out loud! SHE: That is not what I meant. Listen, just talk to him about it, okay? ME (still amused): You know of course all those stories mom and dad fed us about going blind, infertility, hairy palms, etc. aren’t exactly true. SHE: Yeah, I know, I know… just let him know it is…well… okay and talk to him some more about safe sex, girls, and the consequences of teen pregnancy, etc. ME: Uh… you sure you want me to do this? SHE: Being sure has nothing to do with it, but right now, you are all I’ve got. ME: Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis, and the glowing recommendation. I’ll be sure to include you on my resume. I still remember the time when I reached when reached puberty. My father handed me a book and said, “Here, read. And if you have any questions, you can speak to me or your mother about it” Short and sweet… no fuss. I read the book and didn’t ask them a thing. I wasn’t going to risk it. Knowing my parents, going to them for answers would have been disastrous and embarrassing. Besides, we kind of had a history of avoiding the truth about sex. When I was 7 or 8 years old, I finally plucked up the courage to ask my parents where babies came from. My mom looked at my Dad, who looked at my Mom, who then related to me the myth about the stork who delivers babies. The woman did not even blink once. Brilliant! So, for many years after that I was convinced that I needed to have sex with a long-legged bird in order to have children of my own one day. Abstinence seemed like a gift from God. I dunno how to breech the subject with him. Uncles aren’t meant to do these things. I think I’ll stall until he’s 18, hire a porno and hand him a six-pack of beers to go with it. “Here, watch. And if you have any questions, you can speak to me about it” Hopefully, he'll be to drunk to say anything.

Me, me, me.... (groan)

2006-01-12T11:44:00.000+02:00

One of my blog-friends(?) passed this meme on to me and dared me to complete it. I am sure she made up, in the hopes of duping me into revealing more about myself. It is lengthy, but what the bloody heck! 1. What did you do in 2005 that you had not done before? I took an honest and painful look at myself and decided I needed to make a few changes. 2. Did anyone close to you give birth? A good friend became a father. Sharing in his happiness, made me want to raise a flock of little chittys. [Slap me, please] 3. Did anyone close to you get married? A cousin got married in November. It morphed into more of a family reunion, which was quite nice. 4. Did anyone close to you die? Thankfully, no. I hate funerals. 5. Did you travel? Where did you go? Best holiday memory? I traveled quite a bit around South Africa. Last year was the first time in a long time that I did not travel outside of South Africa. It was nice, but I am starting to miss not going overseas. Best holiday memory would be the ski-holiday at Tiffendel in August. 6. Best thing(s) you bought? Two things: IPod nano. For the money I paid, it had better be! Canon EOS 350D Digital SLR camera 7. Where did most of your money go? I have absolutely no idea! Here... there.. everywhere. My money disappeared as fast as I could make it. I can’t remember half the things (junk) I bought in 2005. A great big chunk went on parties & booze. Extremely sad! 8. What do you wish you had done more of? Focusing on what’s important, not only on what’s important to myself but to the people in my life. I wish I had loved more. 9. What do you wish you had done less of? Spending money. I guess I should have tighter control over my finances. Problem is, fun=money (mostly) and I so like to have fun. 10. What kept you sane? My girlfriend and my ability to adapt to circumstances. 11. What drove you mad? The uncertainty and insecurity that comes with changing jobs. I hate not in being control of my destiny and I went though a phase last year where it seemed I was not. 12. What made you celebrate? Strangely enough, my new job and the fact that I finally got the better of my old boss. 13. What made you sad? My infinite capacity to ignore what is right in front of me. The war in Iraq, Hurricane Katrina and the poverty & suffering I see around me every day. 14. How was your birthday this year? It was a grand affair. One I will remember for years to come. I like the idea of growing older in years; it is the physical decline that comes with it that freaks me out. Which reminds me... regular visits to the gym. 15. What political issue stirred you the most this year? The Zuma affair and how close we came (and still could) to having him as our next president. 16. Where you in love in 2005? Yes and I still fall in love every day. 17. What would you like to have in 2006 that you didn't have in 2005? Stability. A harem of beautiful women? 18. What date from 2005 will be etched in your memory and why? Two dates: The day I sat down with my father and discussed my feelings about leaving my job. The fact that he cared enough to listen and the sound advice he gave me. The day I ran into my high school sweetheart and realised that she was never meant to be mine to begin with. 19. What song will remind you of 2005? You’re Beautiful – James Blunt 20. Compared to this time last year are you happier? Yes, I am. I have grown and matured. There’s hope and anticipation in the air and I look forward to achieving my goals. My long-term memory is shot and I’m sure I said the same thing last year… haha! 21. Biggest achievement in 2005? Changing jobs. Not allowing my penis to get the better of my common sense? 22. Biggest disappointment in 2005? No taking full advantage of all the opportunities that came my way. I guess conscience really does make cowards of us all. 23. What is the one thing that would have made you more satisfied? Winning the Lotto Who am I kidding? I’m a hedonistic SOB, so it is all about self-indulgence and physical pleasure to me. 24. Best new person you met this year? The stewardess I met at the team getaway. The kiss was awesome, time stopped, and one of the more romantic moments of 2005. My fellow bloggers. 25. A valuable life lesson you learnt this year? Life is fluid in all its aspects. In order to survive and be happy, one sometimes has to go with the flow. I am not tagging ANYONE, but I challenge you to take stock of your life in 2005, if you dare!

Out shopping with me dad

2006-01-11T09:58:00.000+02:00

The other day I went with my father to buy a new lawn mower. Mowing the lawn is an unfortunate side-effect of the hot, yet wet, weather we are experiencing in Johannesburg. If I had my way, I’d dig up the lawn and pave the entire friggin backyard. "Now whatever you do, don't speak to the salesman unless I tell you to", he cautions me when we enter the shop. "Let me do the talking" At that point, my only thought is: I wonder if he took his medication this morning? "But Dad, we are in an appliance store, not at a garage sale" "So?" is the short and curt answer. "You can't bargain on the price of a lawn mower. We're at Dions, not at an open market in Cairo" "Nonsense! I got R20.00 off on the new toaster I bought last November. That’s the problem with you young people of today… you accept whatever is dished up to you" I knew exactly where this conversation is heading. Before long he would lecture me on the good old days. So I acknowledge defeat and agree to his game plan. "Can I help you?" asks the sales man. "Yes," I smiled, "We'd like to buy an electric lawn mower, please." "Sure, if you'll just come over here. This one will cost you…", and he tells us how much it costs. Dad casually clears his throat. "Is that the best price you can offer, young man?" "Erm. Yes?", the sales man answers with a surprised look on his face. I slowly back away from them and pretend to be absolutely fascinated by the pool cleaners they have on display. The sales guy does not know it yet, but he is in for the duration. I almost feel sorry for him. "Would there be any discount for paying in cash?" "Well... we don’t give discounts on cash. However, if you can find the same appliance at a lower price elsewhere, we undertake not only to match that price, but will give it you at an even lower price" "Look, young man, I am a busy man and my time is precious. Do you really expect me to drive all over town, find a cheaper lawnmower, and then come back here so that you can give it to me at a better price? Where is the sense in that?" [I cringe, smile nervously and pretend that I had dropped something on the floor.] "Would you mind checking with the shop manager that this is your absolute best price?" The red-faced salesman agrees and walks off to find the manager. Dad gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I pretend not to know him in case there are security cameras in the shop. Five minutes later the salesman returns, "The manager says we can't reduce the price, but I can give you this discount voucher which entitles you to a R75.00 discount on you next item of purchase" "Excellent!" says the old battleship. "How much for that extension cord over there?" "That will be R135.00, sir" “Good”, says he with a smug look on his a face, “I’ll take it and I want to use the voucher you just gave me as part-payment” And with that he calls me over and leads the way to the pay point. "Did you see that, son? I got him good, didn’t I?" I feign admiration and say, "Yes dad, you were brilliant". My hero. I make a mental note to return to that store with my father any time soon. I haven’t the heart to remind him that he and mom had bought a new extension cord a few weeks earlier. The one he had just bought was not needed. Mom will take care of him when we get home. Let him enjoy his victory for now.

A journey of a thousand miles

2006-01-10T11:41:00.000+02:00

Last night, I received an sms from my friend Craig, inviting my gf and I out to dinner with him and his partner on Wednesday night. "Craig-O" has been one of my best friends since high school and we have had many crazy adventures together. Now I have to let you in on a little secret about my friend Craig. He is a bit, well much more than a bit, of a boozer. I have long suspected that his heavy boozing has to do with the fact that he is inherently a very shy person. On the few social occasions I had seen him not drinking; he was be a bit of bore and seemed somewhat out of place. We all prolly know one or two ppl like that, someone who after a couple of drinks, can be the life and soul of a party. Without it they drift around aimlessly and can hardly conduct a meaningful conversation. Why am I telling you this? The message also implied that he has decided to give up drinking as one of his New Year’s resolutions. Way to go. This from a man, who when we were in Barcelona a few years back, dropped his pants in front of a night club and begged a hooker to give him a blow job. Crazy bastard! Do not get me wrong. It is NOT that I am not happy that he has decided to make changes in his life. Some are long overdue! I only wish that he, and I am not saying he is not, would have been more moderate in his approach. On the one hand I am scared for him and one the other I am just sceptical at his ability to pull it off. I do not want see him fail at this. Something also tells me that he going to need all the help and support he can get and as such I (and all of his friends) need to walk this road with him. [don’t let anybody…ever… point a finger and call the Chitster shallow!] I am going to accept the invitation. I want to be supportive and the dinner will be a good place for him to test the waters, so to speak. Small steps, and what better place to start taking those steps than over dinner being surrounded by good friends? There comes a time when you have to retire from your life as you know it, settle into adulthood and ride off into the sunset. The hardest part for him will be developing and cultivating a booze-free persona when all who know him and have been around him all those years come to expect him to do the crazy things he is so well-known for. One of the few occasions, I guess, when NOT living up to expectations can actually be a good thing.

Here we go again...

2006-01-06T12:42:00.000+02:00

The festive season has come and gone and life carries on exactly where it left off in December last year. Do I sound cynical? Nah, I just have a gift for stating the obvious. The Christmas tree and tinsel are neatly packed away in boxes for another year. Suddenly the house seems empty and ordinary. Why would that be? The build-up to Xmas and New Year is a recently forgotten memory. For almost two weeks life was one big party of juvenile (delinquent) silliness, of living large and more hang-overs than I care to remember. The problem is that I do remember and in true chitty fashion I went into complete overdrive. “Do whatever you do well… and when you happen to fuck things up… well, make sure you do a good job of that too” [wink, wink] I have kissed and shaken hands with more relatives and friends than I care to remember. My only regret is that I did not have more sex. A very strange thing to say, I know, given all that has happened, but I guess my needs are simple in an almost primal sense. I would easily have traded all the gifts, parties, revelry and running around for a little more “us time” with the gf. I guess I must be growing old. I have not made any New Year’s resolutions. What’s the use when they are gong to be broken anyway? One can never predict what the year ahead has in stall and resolutions, noble and well-intended as they may be, may be nothing more than wishful thinking. I have always relied on my ability to adapt and play it by ear so to speak. I have set a few goals for 2006 and I reckon that is as good start as any. I had a brief moment of profoundness (lucidity, perhaps?) when the clock struck 12 on 31 December, but that moment quickly disappeared along with the Martini I was holding in my hand. I thought to myself: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Profound counsel indeed! But then I started to ponder what this would really mean to me. Does it mean that my life up till now had been frivolous and meaningless and contributed little or nothing to whom I am? Is there even such a thing as the rest of your life? We only have one life each. It is a continuous line and who, what and where we are today is a culmination of all that has gone before. There is no magic switch to throw, I’m afraid. Sure, you can make life-changes, but the past is always there and will always influence the present. ‘Twas at that point that my friend Brad came over and casually said, “Oh, I see your glass is empty. Here, let me get you another” And just like that (clickety-click) the moment was gone and there was once again a party to enjoy and a crowd to please. It has been a while since my last post, but I reckon that I can be forgiven for not having the time or the inclination to sit in front on my computer and tap dance with the keys on the keyboard. So... without much further ado, let me wish all of my blogfriends and readers; A wonderful and joyous 2006! I wish you much love and happiness, buckets of success, tip loads of laughter and may each day, all 365 of them, bring you closer to fulfilling your dreams and heart’s desires. Count your blessings and live each day like it is all you’ve got and if that doesn’t do it for you… well do as I would do and make someone else’s life a misery. (Hahaha… it is true what they say, misery loves company!). I joke about the last bit of course, but I think you get the gist of it. Peace out!

A gift horse...

2005-12-13T12:00:00.000+02:00

I received one of those corporate gift sets you see doing the rounds at Christmas time. Well, the (previous) company actually called me to come and fetch it from the office. Their benevolence knows no boundaries. Usually the sets are given to you by business people/acquaintances whom you have dealt with over the course of the year. The one I received contained a bottle of liquor and set of nice glasses in a little wooden case. Also included was a card wishing me a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. So cute… They are a little cheesy, I know, but it is a gift nonetheless and I like receiving gifts. Even when in some cases you now the only reason they are giving this you is to suck up and ensure that you will do business with them in the new year. If I had my way, I would spike some of the bottles with laxatives. It will be the ideal way to let some people know just how much crap you had to put up with in dealing with them and their unreasonable demands. Sweet revenge, even when it is at Christmas time!

A compromising situation

2005-12-08T14:20:00.000+02:00

I have been invited to attend the company’s year-end party in Cape Town. From what I can gather, it is going to be a fairly large formal affair. I suppose you can afford to go large when you are a young upstart in the industry and have had a very good year. Most big companies do not have big parties more. I love large parties; they can be so… intimate. At small parties there is never any privacy, if you get my drift. Hahaha… not that I intend to get intimate with anyone at the party. It brings back memories of what had happened last year. Last year’s party at my “old” company was also one of those big affairs. Not that the affair in itself was particularly big, but rather the number of people who attended and the amount of free booze on offer. Being new and somewhat strange to the goings-on around the office, the intention was to keep it cool, make the cameo appearance and then leave quietly soon after the big bosses had established that I had been present. Boy, was I wrong. Someone should have warned me that the punch bowl was more potent than I had anticipated. It seems a lot of other people did not know that either. The problem with consuming too much alcohol is that you never know when you had consumed too much until… well… it is too late. By the then the false bravado and party animal that lurks inside of us, had taken on a life of its own. Watch out Mr Hyde, Mr Jackal is in charge and flying the jumbo jet! I am a flirtatious extrovert (SOB?) and social by nature and when I drink, I get even more so. Some people may take my intentions more seriously than intended and therein lays the problem. I usually end up in very sticky situations At 9 o’clock on the night of the party in question, I was doing just that. I was working the party like a seasoned pro... as only the chitster could. The bosses liked me, my co-workers laughed at my jokes and witticisms. I flirted with the office girls and got on well with the guys. , By ten, I decided I had enough and that it was time to make a discreet exit. As I leave, I saw my boss’s young secretary standing all by herself on the balcony. She looked a bit wasted and I walked over to check that she was ok. She’s one of the women I had flirted with earlier, all in good fun, and so when got to her , she mistook my concern for something more. She was all hands and I had a hard time explaining to her that what had happened earlier was mere social interaction. Have you ever noticed how quickly a drunken person’s mood swings from one extreme to the next? Suddenly she was all hurt and offended and I was the biggest rat on the face of the earth. I apologised (for what?) and as I turned to walk away, she planted a drunken kiss on my lips. Bleh! The glass of red wine she had in her hands tipped over and the entire contents spilled down the front of my trousers. Brilliant... now it looked like I had peed on myself! She giggled and let out a drunken “oops”. [I wonder whether that was intentional.] I ran down to the men’s room, and tried to pat down the front of my trousers with a hand towel. There was no way I was driving home with my crotch soaked in alcohol. The alcohol had seeped right though to my underpants and the front was stained bright red. I was alone in the men’s room, so I dropped the trousers and dried down the front of the underpants as much as I could. I must have been a comical sight to behold. Suddenly the door opened and one of the guys from the office walked in. “What happened, he asked?” So as not to spoil the lady’s reputation I pretended that a glass of wine had accidentally fallen over in my lap. “You need any help?” he asked. “No thanks, I think got it covered. I'm actually on my way home…I think I got most of the wine out”, I said. As I closed the front of my trousers, the zipper got caught on my shirt. With a “here let me help you with that”, he moved in closer and next thing I knew, he’s got his hand on my crotch and was helping me with the zipper. Ok, the moment was too gay, even for me, so I backed up against the wall behind me. My situation had just gone from bad to worse. The door to the men's room opened again and in walked another one of my other male colleagues. I don’t now who was more surprised… him or me. For a moment, which seemed like an eternity, we just looked at one another. In the mentime, the other guy still had his hands on my crotch and was tugging at the zipper. “Eh, I think I should leave... you guys need some privacy” “NO!!”… I shouted at him. “It isn’t what it looks like, believe me!” but he was already out the door. I managed to get myself out of the men's room, but by then he had gone back the party. Damn! I could only imagine what he must be telling the rest of the guys. I hurried down the stairs, got into to my car and drove home. Fuck this… when one puts the incident in the bathroom and the incident on the balcony together, things did not look good for me. Monday at the office was rather uncomfortable and it felt as if everybody eyed me with suspicion. I went to my colleague’s offices and did my best to set things straight with him. I ended up end up telling him what exactly had happened. After a while a smile appeared on his face and he packed out laughing. Phew! He told me that he prolly would have thought nothing of it, except for the fact that the guy who helped me in the men’s room was gay and known for coming on to the office guys. Seeing the two of us in a compromising situation kind of made it hard not to jump to the obvious conclusion. Luckily, for me he had not told anybody, yet, but he admitted that he was tempted to do so at the party. He thought that perhaps the naked look of fear in my eyes may have had something to do with that. [I am so practising that look for the next time I might need it] A narrow escape indeed, although not quite unlike the usual plethora of strange things that normally happen to me. Oh, and the next time something spills down the front of my trousers, it may be a wise move to go into a stall and drop my trousers behind a locked door, don’t you think?

Singing the office blues?

2005-12-06T09:30:00.001+02:00

Two weeks since I left my previous job and one week into my new job. I can’t help but feel somewhat disconnected from the outside world. Meetings, meetings… meetings. In the last 4 days I have attended more meetings and have met more people than I care to remember and it leaves me somewhat numb. All the names and the faces seem to have merged into a big blob. Starting a new job in December is prolly the worst thing anyone can attempt to do and I would not wish it on my worst enemy. Everybody else is closing down while you are starting up and you feel out of sync with the rest of the world. It is an unnatural state of affairs and your entire being rebels against what you are trying to achieve. It is a time when one’s brain shuts down and you are almost incapable of mustering up the energy to start something new. All you can think about is taking time off to relax, taking a well deserved break and getting away from all the stresses and strains that signify work. Try as you may… you cannot dupe your mind into thinking differently. The big hunt for office space and setting up new offices are in full swing and my days are filled to capacity. It feels like every estate agent in the city of Johannesburg is working for me at the moment. It is a wonder I find the time to blog this entry at all. But it is onward little soldier and hopefully everything will be up and running come January 2006. I prolly won’t have much of a holiday, which in itself is not so bad. Working from home is however a big schlep and mentally I would prefer going to an office in the morning and doing my work from there. All of the things one usually takes for granted and makes for the smooth running of an office have become major obstacles to me. Sending and receiving faxes, telephone calls, e-mail, etc… all of the things one would normally not give a second thought to. The few days I had to myself prior to starting, seems like another life time and although I got a lot done and had loads of fun doing things I normally do not get the time to do, it already seems like I am due for more “me” time. When I close my eyes, I can see Cape Town’s sun-drenched beaches and lots of skimpily dressed women… sipping pina coladas and giving me the eye. [Uhm… Ah yeah… adjust your pants and dream on, chitty] On the upside, everybody is really supportive and has helped out where they can. The gf has become my part-time office assistant and I will prolly have to marry the woman at the end of this in order to make it up to her. Hahha… somehow I do not think she will think it very romantic of me. Having said all that, I am very excited about the job and the new prospects and I cannot wait for things to get going. Patience, little man! There are exciting times ahead and the little I was exposed to in this short period of time has only made me hunger for more. I have big plans and ideas of my own and I only hope that the business is ready for what I plan to do next year. Let the good time roll, baby! The Chitser’s been set loose and there is a whole new “world” to conquer and enslave. So many new kids to play with… so little time.

Cigarette in the rain

2005-11-22T14:26:00.000+02:00

There is no escaping the madness that is Christmas, is there? Even the bums/beggars who stand on the street corner have joined in the revelry by wearing all manner of Christmas decorations around there necks and their bodies. A bunch of walking, taking Christmas trees appealing to your humanity. The irony of the situation does not escape me and I am left to wonder what exactly I am to make of all of this. Which side of my humanity are they appealing to? Am I supposed to feel sorrier for them than I do on any other day? It does however bring a smile to my face and I guess in doing that they have achieved their objective, so I give them the change I have in my pocket. They will prolly use the money to buy cigarettes or alcohol. I am not about to fool myself into thinking that the money I had just given them is going to set in motion a miraculous turnaround in their fortune. Short term relief is all I could hope for... in whatever form. Isn't it funny (in a weird sense) however that a homeless person or charity worker would say to you, "God bless you," especially when you don't/can’t give them anything? What exactly is the deal with that? As if in that very moment they morally rise above you and reserve the right to bestow a blessing as if they forgive you for not doing the “right” thing. I usually look them right back in the eye and say, “God bless you too” Hell, there is nothing that gives them exclusive rights to bestowing blessings on others so I may as well get in on the action, right? Come to think of it, if I had it in with God, I would not go around at Christmas time blessing some asshole who is too stingy to spare me his loose change. Would you? Not to be selfish and smug, but I'd be sitting there saying, "God, I am but a humble beggar and You know that I usually ask You to bless those who do not give me anything, but could You find it in Your heart to let the fella, who just walked past me, come down with some annoying disease for the holiday season? Nothing serious, Lord, I’d settle for him getting a case of crabs or a spell of herpes. And while you are at it, Lord, could You please bless me too so that I do not have to wear these ridiculous decorations and hold this stupid paper cup?!" Yep, that would be me. And I’d feel a lot happier too knowing that there is a slim chance that perhaps my wish may be granted. Bah, humbug!

I bleed for my country!

2005-11-17T13:32:00.000+02:00

I sacrificed a whole pint of fresh A-grade blood for the People of South Africa today. And excuse the obvious pun, but IT SUCKED! Giving blood is not at all what you see in the vampire movies. You know, that near orgasmic moment when the vampire finally sinks his fangs into the aorta of the victim. Yeah, I know… the old adage, “Only in Hollywood”. Mind you, Kate Beckinsale , was über-sexy as Selene in the vampire movie, Underworld. She can sink her fangs into my aorta anytime! Swiftly moving along. I only agreed to donate because Anna in the office next to mine asked if I would go. I did not want to wimp out on her nor did I want her to beat me to the post in being smug and virtuous. The whole idea seems wholesome and innocent enough on the surface. The poster on the notice board said, Give Blood and Save a Life. A noble cause. No-one, other than me, seemed to think that the act of donating blood is probably as close as one can come to the embodiment of evil. Luckily there were no long queues when we got there. Can't say that I was at all surpised. It is not like we were going to watch Robbie Williams live, were we? I don’t think I could stand to watch blood being siphoned from the bodies of other people by narrow tubes spiraling from their outstretched arms for longer than necessary. Freaky! “Oh, look dear! I think your blood is turning bright orange. I think perhaps it would be a good idea to call a doctor!” I had the urge to say this to a woman in her 50’s as she laid there on her little trolley bed gazing up at the ceiling looking all sweet and serene. Somehow I did not think anyone would have been enjoyed my attempt at humour. Vampires, I mean nurses, have no sense of humour. Donating the blood is not the problem for me. It is all the friggin array of paraphernalia that they use for extracting it. The sharp needles, the rubber tourniquet, the plastic bags and the tubes running from your arm. Did I mention the friggin sharp needle? And why do they always talk to you as if you are retarded? "Don’t worry, dear, it won’t hurt a bit". Really? Do you mind backing that up by sticking the needle into your arm? I don’t dislike nor do I have a phobia about sharp needles. I just don’t appreciate them in my body. Of course I am too proud to admit that it does in fact hurt a little, so I looked away when the nurse pushed it into my arm. When she asked me if it hurt… I feigned surprise and said, "Oh are you done already… didn’t even feel a thing”. And just like that my precious blood is being harvested. It flowed out of my arm up the narrow tube and into that damned little plastic bag. I always wonder what would happen if they forget to turn the damn thing off. Would it just keep on draining until there was nothing left of me but a bag of skin and bones? Of course these strange thoughts are brought on by the lightheadedness due to the slow loss of blood, but they seem very real at the time. I prefer my lightheadedness when it is brought on in tablet form, in case you were wondering. The whole procedure only took about ten minutes. Then it was out with the offending needle, and on with the complimentary alcohol swab with which to apply pressure to the "open wound". They also encourage you to go to the recreational area and have free biscuits and tea with your fellow bleeders. Yep, they fatten you up right away in preparation for the next bloodletting. There is nothing quite like swapping stories about the pints of blood you have donated over the years with your fellow bleeders. And if you are really lucky, you may run into someone who has a rare blood type. Why, they are the royals of the bloodletting fraternity, aren't they? [Bow down, commoner] I am not quite sure whether the tea and biscuits were worth the price I had to pay. It seemed like a bum deal to me. Surely a pint of blood could justify a cream-filled doughnut from the bakery up the road?

Housekeeping

2005-11-15T11:12:00.000+02:00

The Slipstream has been rather quiet over the last few days and with good reason. I am nearing my last days at the company I work for, with 23 November being my last official day of work. (Will someone give me a hallelujah?!) And being the kind of person that I am, I hate leaving behind any unfinished business. As a result, I am frantically getting all of my things in order, such as updating my work and project files, both electronically and on hard copy and making sure that whoever takes this position will know exactly what is going on from the minute they set foot in this office. Given my workload and the number of active projects I work on, it is not an easy task... but nothing worth doing well ever is. The good news is... I am almost there! I know from personal experience that a lot of things are blamed on the guy who leaves. Firstly, he is not there to defend himself and secondly, there is no way of knowing what the truth is. It is an ideal opportunity for those who are less than perfect to duck and dive. Why do I care if it is going to happen anyway? Well, it has a lot to do with my own personal and professional pride. I am a finisher. There will be no unfinished business/work and all other work will be taken to a point where the next phase can begin. I’ll be damned if I am going to let anyone criticize my work, say (or even hint) that I was incompetent at my job and that I left things in a mess, even if I am not there to hear them say it. I also take pride in knowing that despite being weird and wacky; I am extremely good at what I do. There are few people out there who know me that would disagree. Cleaning up and getting my office in order has also presented me with the opportunity to get rid of all of the things I do not need. So there is a lot of shredding and throwing out going on. It is amazing how much one can amass in such a small period of time! Of course the fact that I am a compulsive hoarder has lots to do with it. I brought things with me from my previous company, which if I really have to be honest with myself, has been of no value to me and prolly never will be. I don’t want to make the same mistake again and take with me more things that I may never need. If all goes according to plan, I will walk out of here next Wednesday with all my goodies neatly packed into a shoebox. Now that, my dear friends, is what I would call traveling light!

SHOOOW MEE THE MONEY!!!!

[Damn, don't you just love this picture?]

And to think I used to like weekends...

2005-11-10T14:56:00.000+02:00

The gf had just called to remind me not to make any plans for this coming Saturday, since I had promised to go shopping with her for Christmas gifts. GRRRR… !!! Why we have to do shopping this early in November is far beyond the intellectual and comprehensive abilities of my male brain. I mean, there is enough time for all of that between 20 -24 December, isn’t there? I sort of understand that buying the right gift is a very, very difficult thing to do or at least that is what she says when I ask her about it. I always think that if somebody is so difficult to shop for that you have to do it a month in advance, then you really have to ask yourself, “Why am I even a friend of this person?”. I wanted to remind her that gift certificates would be brilliant idea, but I didn’t want to risk her telling me again that I am unimaginative and have no Christmas spirit. So maybe I don’t actually hate Christmas. What I do hate is going to the mall, and being bombarded by glitter and tinsel, flickering lights, fake snowflakes, sprigs of holly, hand-drawn reindeer and cherubic Santas. It is the only time of the year I condone the wearing of sunglasses indoors, even on a cloudy day. I really cannot see why the stores must decorate so early. It is like going to a party and putting on your party outfit a month in advance. By the time you finally get to go to the party, the outfit is no longer new and you prolly hate wearing it. All that the stores are basically doing is doing a number on our eyes, ears and wallets. Personally, the worst thing about Christmas has got to be... the Christmas jingles. And topping the list of the worst Christmas jingles of all time has to be… Jingle Bell Rock! There is no more god-awful, suicide begging, suck-the-joy-out-of-everything sound on the face of the earth, than that little song. (And in case you wondered... yes, I do know the words to the song. Isn't that always the case?) The absolute worst thing about going to the mall is that every store plays it. Like it is the friggin number one song on the annual Christmas jingle hit parade. Of course, there are people out there who are really into Christmas. Like the gf. People who, unlike me, find the idea of charging three months worth of salary to their credit cards – 90% of which will not be appreciated, wonderfully appealing. I can only begin to imagine the thrill there is in finding a size 48 underwear set, with a large sunflower print, for 80 year old Aunt Octavia. It is usually at this of the year that I seriously begin to consider conversion to one of the other mainstream religions. But I am told that since South Africa is largely a Christian society, this will not solve my problem. I wonder if can immigrate to Iran for two months of the year… somewhere near the Caspian Sea would do just fine.

Egg on my face

2005-11-08T12:41:00.000+02:00

The phone rings. LINDA: My hands are full. Could you answer the telephone for me? (She's holding a large pile of files in her arms) ME: Sure. Do you want me to take a message and tell them that you will call back? LINDA: Yeah… ok. Just find out first who it is and what they want first. ME: Ok ME: Good morning. This is Linda So-and-so’s desk. How may I help you? VOICE: Good morning. May I speake to Linda, please? ME: I’m sorry. Linda is not available at present. Can I take a message and ask her to call you back? VOICE: This is Linda’s mother speaking. I need to speak to my daughter urgently. (Her tone of voice tells me she is not about to take no for an answer) I put my hand over the receiver and relay the message to Linda, who’s still standing there with the pile of files in her hands LINDA (panicky): I don’t want to talk to her! Tell her anything... tell her I am in a meeting and will call her back. Tell her the building is on fire! Please, I cannot talk to her… please? ME (in my most sincere voice): I am sorry Mrs. Blah-blah-blah, Linda is in a meeting right now. I will ask her to call you back as soon as she comes out of the meeting. I'll be sure to tell her it is urgent. VOICE: You call her out of that meeting right now, young man. It is a matter of life and death and I have to speak to hear. (She is practically shouting at me down the line at this point in time) I have to talk to my daughter, do you hear me?! (I hear you woman… but your daughter does not want to talk to you!) I cup the receiver again and tell Linda that her mother is friggin hysterical and that she had better take the call because I am starting to feel really uncomfortable. Linda just looks at me, still holding the friggin files in her arms. Why on earth she hasn’t put them down yet is beyond my comprehension. LINDA: Please, I cannot deal with her right now. (As opposed to whom… me? Do I look like I have experience in dealing with the family matter of others?) ME (curtly): Mrs. Blah-blah-blah… I cannot call Linda out of her meeting. It is obviously a personal matter, so I will put you through to her voice-mailbox and you can leave a message for her. (That sunny disposition I’ve been nurturing all morning, has just flown out the window) I frantically press the re-call button and punch in the extension number for Linda’s voice-mailbox. Oh boy, the recall button on the phone does not work. Fuck this, I am not dealing anymore!! ME: You have reached the voice-mailbox of Linda So-and-so… Please leave a message after the beep. (I punch the one of the buttons on the keypad for the sound effect) BEEP! VOICE: I know you are still there. I recognise your voice from earlier on. (Fuck… In my ruffled state I had forgotten to disguise my voice. Caught out! The old hag is on to me) ME (knowing the game's up): I am sorry. The voice mailbox you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time. Good bye and have a nice day. I slam the phone down. (Linda can deal with this) LINDA: Chitty, I am so very sorry. I promise to make it up to you. ME: Shut up. I am not listening to explanations. Your mother will prolly call back, so I suggest you get as far away from your desk as you possibly can. I take a brisk walk to the men’s room. I barely make it inside and I burst out laughing. I laugh so much, I have to sit down on the floor. Dammit, that was badly executed. That has got to go down as one of the worst bluffs in the history of the telephone. Linda does not know it yet, but I am getting her back for this one.

ssThe subscriber you have called... (blah blah blah)

2005-11-07T12:22:00.000+02:00

I did not recognise then number on the screen, so I let the phone ring until it stopped. Perhaps my mysterious caller would leave a message. “They” did not. My curiosity got the better of me and I called back. I recognised the voice immediately and for some unknown reason my heart lodged in my throat like I swallowed a jawbreaker. “Hello”, she said, “It’s so good to hear your voice”. (It is?) “How have you been?” “I am doing great. Never better” (Would I admit to anything else?) After just over 2 years(!), the ex g/f calls and starts chatting away like no time had passed at all! Some people sure has that "move on with life" scenario pegged down. Although I can hear her speak, I am not really interested in what she has to say. This is the woman who gave me the old” It’s not you, it’s me” speech. It that was not a big enough insult to my intelligence, she now reserves the right to call me up. She will be in town this coming weekend and wants to meet… catch up on old times. What old times? She called from work, but has to attend a meeting and asked if she could call me back. Yeah sure, I have nothing better to do than wait for her call. I switched the phone off. Let her call back and leave a message. I don’t want to meet with her. I don’t want to catch up on old times. I don’t want to be friends… because what exactly would the point be? A better man would be above all that and I am. So there is really no point in meeting up, is there? Did I mention that the phrase “f*ck $ff, b&%*h” passed through my mind several times? It sounded exactly like one of those formula 1 racing cars speeding by.

How did I get to be so grumpy?

2005-11-04T12:03:00.000+02:00

Well, the shit is hitting the fan. My work computer has been rendered completely impotent. I cannot get access to the databases I need to do my work and the internet is just barely working. It crashes every 5 minutes and I am super-duper pissed off because I hate hanging around doing nothing. After logging a call with the IT Helpdesk, I am told a technician from Dell will be in later today to take a look at my machine. It is now 12h30, how much later can he get here? So, since I have some free time on my hands, I'll share with you 3 of my current pet hates.

The drunk debaters:Two guys from the office invited me out to drinks after work. While I enjoy their company, I hate the fact that they have heated arguments/debates (take your pick) every time they have too much to drink. These two will debate(argue about) every thing under the bloody sun, from French foreign policy, the war in Iraq to Britney Spear’s ass. While the rest of us are trying to unwind and have a good time, they are off to the side talking about stuff that can only make sense when your blood alcohol level goes above the legal limit. They should just get a room, draw an imaginary line down the middle and beat the crap out of whoever dares to cross it first. Yeah… don’t think I’ll be going with them tonight. Mizz Vodka Martini and I will have to meet up on another night.
The whole gay marriage debate: I got drawn into this debate a couple of weeks back and it sucked BIG time. Come on lets be realistic people, does it really matter to me if two gay people get married? And as for "compromising the sanctity of marriage", where have you been the last 50 years? We passed that milestone a long time ago. Getting a divorce and having extra-marital affairs are the favourite pastimes of South Africans. Everybody gets divorced these days, children! Do we get our knickers in a knot when that happens? Do we quote passages from the Bible and have debates in parliament? Of course not! In fact, if you are married and have not contemplated getting divorced yet, you are officially in the minority! Surely all that energy can be directed to do something else, like getting your ass of the couch, eating less and getting in shape. How about spreading some love around? I have a friend who is gay. He is the funniest, decent and most considerate person I know, myself included. If my girlfriend dumps me, I am so marrying him. It will piss off everyone I know and they can debate it for hours on end. Whatever the reason, you are all invited. Hehehe…
People who invite me out for coffee: When did you become so self-centered? These are people who know for a fact that I cannot and will not drink coffee. I seriously don't get the whole coffee fad – literally or figuratively. I guess you have to be a coffee drinker to be able to do that. Much in the same way a sane person could never understand what it is like to be crazy, or vice versa. To my taste buds, coffee manifests itself as an abnormality. In any case, one does not actually taste coffee. I am told one can only smell(?) it. I don’t get how drinking coffee became such a social symbol or how ppl savour and crave the taste of it. "Let's meet for coffee or "I am a complete wreck until I have my first cup of coffee”. Whoop-de-doo... good cheer in a cup of hot water flavoured by a South American bean. Why not just ask me to meet you for meaningless sex? I am a helluva lot more likely to accept and at least then I know what I’m being used for. It will be a lot of fun too and you won’t have to pay. Has anyone checked the price of a cup of coffee lately... with or without the dollop of whipped cream and complimentary chocolate sprinkles? We complain about the price of petrol being more than six bucks a liter, yet will happily pay more than twice that for a 250ml cup of coffee. Do the math! And then we say the oil producing countries are profiteering at our despair. How about those rich plantation owners instead? Coffee screams "Rip off" I realise that I have just pissed off a whole horde of Starbucks/Mug'n Bean fans, but I don’t care. So there… bite me!

Ok… I’m done. As you were soldiers!

What are friends for?

2005-11-04T10:36:00.000+02:00

My friend Alex is moving this weekend and he has enlisted the help of all his mates, yours truly included. Why he did not get a bloody moving company beats the crap out to me. Let’s be honest, no-one likes to move furniture, unless you are getting paid for it. The sole reason for writing this post is to berate Alex, because I have already said yes, something I hate myself for doing, and I know he’s not going to read it. And even if he does read it, he is in need of our help and can’t really afford to piss off any one of us. I got my eye on you buddy! The Grinch’s father has a truck and we will be using that to move the furniture from the old place to the new. The only major problem is… Alex currently lives in a friggin flat on the godforsaken 7th floor! I mean come-on… can it get any worse than that? I remember the day we helped him move into his new flat. He had lot less furniture then, but at the time it felt like the hardest, toughest thing I ever had to do in my entire adult life. The lifts in his building are no good. They are way too small and it meant carrying gigantic pieces of heavy furniture up the stairs. Load after load.... after load. There were lots of cursing and swearing, bruises and scrapes and several dents appeared in what was up until then perfectly good furniture. All in all it was a miserable experience. Alex’s prized possession is a gigantic colonial bookshelf… something he picked up at an auction. It is the largest bookshelf, in my opinion, ever assembled in South Africa. It touches the ceiling for crying out loud! It belongs in an 18th century mansion! We are going to have to disassemble it, carry it down piece by piece and reassemble it on the other side. It would make a great bonfire, btw. People would be able to see it for miles around. Oh man, I am not cut out for manual labour. I’d much rather delegate and belt out instructions. Hehehe... The only thing to look forward to is the braai and the beer we were promised afterwards, but I am starting to think not even that is good enough. I want an all expenses paid vacation to the Bahamas. Anyway, let me check if my will is up to date, I may not live to see Monday.

The small things that could drive you loco

2005-11-02T14:32:00.000+02:00

Don’t you hate it when someone accuses you of something and then refuses to listen to your side of the story? It happened to me this morning. It was a minor incident and something I would not have paid much attention to, had it not been for the fact that I felt the matter had been discussed at length in my absence and that it had already been decided that I was somehow responsible. It is not as if you are looking for the others person’s approval or that his opinion even matters at this stage. All you really want is an equal opportunity to state your case and that’s it. Peace of mind… that is what I'm aiming for. “Could you give me a minute to state my side of the story?” I asked “I have said what I wanted to say and I am not interested in debating the matter with you” he said as he walked away from me. (Am I missing something here? How does stating my case constitute a debate?) “Why, are you tired of being bombarded with your own pompous arguments too?” I called after him. I know that last bit go to him because the toe of his left shoe got caught on the carpet and he momentarily missed his step. And with that, I could feel the waves of tranquility washing over me. [sigh]

Here we go 'round the mulberry bush

2005-11-01T11:45:00.000+02:00

I’ve been tagged again… OH BOY… by none other than Terri, the 'Irish' Saffa, to blog about my quirks. Please no more, I beg you! So here I go again, baring my soul and risk people looking at me funny. Oh what the heck... they already do. Oddly enough, a self-confessed “wacko” like me has surprisingly few quirks… or is 15 a bit too much.

I line things up with the edges of my desk, like the piles of paper are always square and in the exact corner of my desk
If I have a lot of change, I’ll put some in each pocket. Then I’ll thrust my hands into my pockets and try to count them simultaneously by feel alone and add the totals in my head. The problem is that other ppl, think I am touching myself. Once, while waiting in line at the bank, a woman kept looking at me. I got so pissed at her that pretended to have an orgasm. I think she almost fainted. (Be warned: I have no shame!!)
Whenever I think of something bad, or wrong that could cause bodily harm, I always clench my fists and will shake my head once to rid myself of the thought.
I will purposely refuse to do something because I fear I may not be good at it. Then I go and do it anyway because I cannot bear not knowing.
I’ll flirt with anyone and everyone, just to see how far I can push the other person’s boundaries. It’s a game to me and things don’t always work out as planned. There are many times when the other person pushes me beyond my boundaries instead.
Let’s get weird… I cannot wear the same piece of clothing like a jersey or a jacket or trousers/jeans more than once unless it has been washed/cleaned, even if it is not dirty. If I have to take off my socks for some reason, like when I go swimming or walk bare feet, I cannot put them back on again.
If I see a lot of numbers, I try to see if the numbers are somehow related. Like if there is something that I can add, subtract, multiply, divide, etc. to get them to all be connected to one another.
I can't fucking stand it when people are too close to me or look over my shoulder when I use my computer.
I have to be the one to pick up a girl. If she tries to pick me up, I’ll tell her to fuck off even is she is the sexiest, cutest thing on two legs. I’d hate myself afterward, but that is how I am.
I hate kissing family members at reunions or parties. Those of you who are South African will know that the traditional custom is to kiss on the mouth. Yikes!! I hate that with all my being!
When I get up in the morning, the very first thing I do is take a shower and brush my teeth. I am not comfortable facing anyone until I’ve done that.
I can imitate the voices of almost all the Simpsons' characters and if I hear someone say something funny on TV, I will repeat it and say it exactly as they did and with the same accent.
I hate people with dirty finger nails. Get thee to hell, thy gravedigger!
If I visit your house and your bathroom is dirty, I will refuse to eat or drink anything that you offer to me. Irrespctive of how hungry I am.
I am always on the side of the underdog, because I like people beating the odds and do extraordinary things.

So in carrying on with tradition, I will, without shame, pass the baton to the following ppl: Omid, Kyknoord, Ekapa, Andrea and That Man. IITQ... consider yourself spared! Don’t hate the player, hate the game!

(PS… regular posting will resume after the commercial break)

Let’s extend a warm welcome to the Nazi twins

2005-10-28T09:28:00.000+02:00

I find this downright disturbing. Nope… disturbing is too tame a word for this. This is fucked-up.

They may remind you of another famous pair of singers, the Olsen Twins, and the girls say they like that. But unlike the Olsens, who built a media empire on their fun-loving, squeaky-clean image, Lamb and Lynx are cultivating a much darker persona. They are white nationalists and use their talents to preach a message of hate.

It is heartbreaking that parents would use their children to further their own hateful racist beliefs. Beliefs they have been nurtured on since birth and teaches them to see Nazi Rudolf Hess, Hitler's deputy Fuhrer as a "man of peace who wouldn't give up." The Hanging Stranger (formerly Intern Andy) says it better than I can. Pop over to his blog for his unique take on events. More here.

He's on a roll!

2005-10-27T10:22:00.000+02:00

You want to see a senior marketer go ballistic on a grey Thursday morning in Johannesburg? Dare to criticize the copy of the new ad campaign he is proposing. Why the peanut asked me for my opinion in the first place is beyond me, because it seems he did not want it anyway. The funniest thing about giving him my perspective is that he felt the need to vehemently defend his and force it down my throat as if I had agreed to perform fellatio. (Spare me the downright embarrassment!) . Most people I know, simply do not appreciate an opinion radically different to their own. I don’t, at least not when the option to disagree with me is not an option at all. Or perhaps it had to do with the questions I asked, “Is that not misleading to the consumer?” What exactly do you mean by the phrase… “, “Can you substantiate that claim?” There is simply no real integrity left in the marketing industry anymore. Greed has taken care of that. Ok… perhaps that is a sweeping generalisation, if ever there was one, but I am using it in the context of this morning’s incident. The ability to utter words or use a keyboard to type words on a computer screen does not make one intelligent. Hell, my 5 year old niece can do that too, and although her ideas can put a smile on my face, they still remain nothing more than the cute little notions of a 5 year old. Capice!? If our thoughts and opinions cannot hold up to a little criticism, then how sound was the reasoning behind it in the first place? Of course; I am the biggest hypocrite of them all. When it comes to this profession, I can and I will... LIE. I too succumb to the pressures of big business. Increase market share, increase volume share, increase net revenue, increase gross margin, increase, increase, fucking increase! I know what it is like to bend the rules, to reserve the use of certain words and images and play on their ambiguity when the occasion calls for it. I know how to navigate the ether between right and and wrong and how to stay just inside the boundaries. However, I'd like to think that I am not entirely without a backbone; that I have managed to evolve beyond the single-celled amoeba. When something is blatantly misleading and used entirely out of context, I would like to believe that there is enough integrity and honesty left in me to do the right thing. I do not mince my words, and regardless of what is going on in behind the scenes, there is no excuse for lies and poor execution. I am on a bridge-burning spree it seems. I have a few torches left in the bottom drawer of my desk, if you’d care to join me. I feel like torching the playground!

Burning bridges on a Tuesday

2005-10-25T12:51:00.000+02:00

I would never have thought myself capable of blackmailing someone into doing what I want them to do. Let me rephrase that, blackmail is not something I would normally resort to in order to get someone to do what I want. I will threaten, manipulate, play political games and may even throw the odd tantrum. I have also been known to beg and plead like there is no tomorrow, but never have I used blackmail in order to get what I want. Until today. I am walking down the corridor at work today and I notice a whole group of people standing at the departmental secretary’s work station. They are all giggles and smiles. Not one for being left on the outside, I decide to join in and get to the bottom what is going on. It appears the official photographs of the conference have arrived and everyone was having a good laugh, reliving the 3 days we spent out there in the bush. There are lots of laughter and squeals of delight and exclamations of, “do you remember that?”, and, “oh, look at so-and-so”, and then there are the other “look at so-and-so”, if you know what I mean. The boss pulls me one side and hands me a photograph telling me, “It would be a shame if this one should fall into the wrong hands” With a puzzled look I take the photograph from him and lo and behold there is a close-up of the stewardess and I kissing. I think I went weak in the knees just looking at it. Hundreds of little rabid monkeys start running around in my head, trying to put together what my next move should be and what would happen if this photograph should ever come into the wrong hands. What is the fucking intention with calling me aside? Guilt is a hard currency and I do deal well in financial matters of the heart. Now I have told the gf about the kiss, but I have played it down for the innocent gesture it was. This photograph however paints a different story and it does not look good for me. It looks extremely intimate. I know they say the camera never lies, but whoever said that had no idea what camera angles, lighting and a close-up can do. It takes things out of perspective and I do not like it when things are out of perspective. I thank him for the picture and point out that if it is not too much to ask, I would like to have the digital master destroyed as well. He looks puzzled and laughs. He says he does not think it is necessary. It will stay between the two of us. I tell him that I think perhaps he misunderstands what I am trying to say. I want the picture destroyed. At this point the rabid monkeys in my head stop running around and things come to a screeching halt. For all I know he may have been joking with me. My gut tells me never trust a man who cheats on his own wife and I decide that the time has come to play hard-ball. I am not in the mood to kiss anyone’s ass nor am I going to explain my motives. At which point I take a deep breath and become extremely calm. I play my ace and say to him, “Look, we all have skeletons in the closet. To me it is this picture and to you it is JN and your early morning get-togethers. Let's just be grown up about all this and agree to not to do anything harsh, shall we?” The boss went white and for a moment there I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He: “I see. How long have you known?” Me: “Long enough to have ruined your life months ago if I had wanted to” He: “What guarantees do I have you won’t use this against me in the future” Me: “None…. But if you honestly think that once I leave here, I am going to look back over my shoulder wondering what you are up to, you have a seriously overestimated your usefulness in my life”. He: "Ok... so it's agreed" Me: "Yes, it is" And just like that, there goes my reputation as a good guy and I become a sleaze-ball. I honestly thought I had reached a point in my life where nothing I do now could possibly top some of the antics I got up to in my younger days.

I am weasel

2005-10-21T15:18:00.000+02:00

There is a limit to the abuse any man can take. Really there is! Trust me. Take last night for instance. The usual suspects and I decide to go out for a few drinks. [Quick aside: what is it about a Thursday night that makes you want to go out, drink too much and feel like shit the next day at work? Why not just wait for Friday night?] Anyway, I digress. So there we are in this kick-ass bar and it is pumping like it’s the freaking Fourth of July. And we were having a good time. Beers and shots are flowing freely, like it should on a night when we really should be at home. A cute girl walks by our table and as she does so, one of my buds (The Grinch) leans in and he calls her over. He chats to her and it is obvious that the intention is to pick her up. Anyway, he has no luck and as she walks away her gives her a nickname, just loud enough for us to hear. He shakes his head from side in a somewhat oriental fashion and says, "Ciao to you too, Miz Tumbleweed”. I thought it was hilarious! Ok, maybe not! I don’t get out much these days. But have a few drinks and I promise you it will be funny. Anyway, let’s get back to the bar and the why we will never be allowed to go back there again. We decide to move to the back of the bar and play a couple games of pool. Things are pretty rowdy and jovial around the tables, when this one guy starts taking gibes at the Grinch. You know nasty little childish comments loud enough for his friends to hear who then has a good laugh. He is either a friend of Miz Tumbleweed or her boyfriend. Now the Grinch is a big guy, over 1.8m, large (think rugby player large) and not the kinda guy one messes with. The other guy, Weasel, is about the about half his size, but he has the biggest mouth south of the friggin’ Equator. He's like your neighbour’s pesky Maltese poodle, yapping away non-stop on a day that you have your worst hangover… ever. Every friggin’ opportunity he gets, he’s in the Grinch’s face. Mocking him, making snide remarks, taunting him. Basically, he’s an asshole and he's behaving even worse. A few of the others and I pull him aside a few time and tell him to let it go for his own good… but no such luck. Obviously old weasel has had a few drinks and he is now the bravest human on the planet and he basically tells us to fuck off. He’s got balls bigger than Superman’s and Batman’s put together. Alrighty, then… not a good image! A few rounds of pool and a good couple beers later, he saunters over to the Grinch, pokes him in the chest and says something nasty about his mother. The Grinch walks around him and carries on playing his game. The little guy, offended by the brush off, walks up the Grinch and pokes him in the chest… yet again. Oh boy! The Grinch punches the guy in the face… one single friggin punch! The little guy gets it right between the eyes. He keels over like Charlie Chaplin in silent movie and he hits the floor really hard. And he is out… just like that! He does not even move! Deep down in my chest I stifle a proud, Yay, Grinch”. Come on… the weasel came begging for it! Of course the friggin bar goes silent and comes to a standstill. Miz Tumbleweed comes running over and now she gets in on the action. Screaming and shouting abuse and trying to revive the weasel from his untimely nap. The manager and the friggin bouncers also make their way across the bar and everything turns into a one big hullabaloo. In the end we leave and the manager politely implies that we should not come around there again. Dammit! So much for a fun night at the bar. Isn’t it always the case though, the smallest guy will always, and I mean always, have the most bravado. Especially after a few drinks and even more so when there is a girl involved. And why in God’s name do they always take on the biggest guy in the group? Do they suffer from a David-vs-Goliath syndrome?

It is Friday afternoon and you may laugh... so go on!

2005-10-21T13:00:00.000+02:00

Sunday's sermon was - Forgive Your Enemies. Toward the end of the service, the Minister asked, "How many of you have forgiven your enemies?" 80 percent held up their hands. The Minister then repeated his question. All responded this time, except one small elderly lady. "Mrs. Jones?" ; "Are you not willing to forgive your enemies?" "I don't have any." She replied, smiling sweetly. "Mrs. Jones, That is very unusual. How old are you?" "Ninety-Eight." She replied. "Oh Mrs. Jones. Would you please come down to the front and tell us all how a person can live ninety-eight years and not have an enemy in the world." The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle, faced the congregation, and said: "I outlived the Bitches."

[That's the way to do it grandma! High five!!]

Chitty takes the witness stand

2005-10-20T11:25:00.000+02:00

I’ve been tagged 5 times(!) in the past 3 months and have NOT taken up the challenge on any one of them. I apologise to all those ppl who actually thought I am good at this sort of thing. This makes me a bit of a spoil sport, don’t you think? So in order to redeem myself, I have decided to take up Andrea’s challenge to disclose 20 random things about myself and tagging as many ppl as the time (in minutes) it took me to complete this. In no particular order; 1. When I was in kindergarten, I slapped my teacher because she wanted to kiss me on my birthday. 2. I once got lost in a supermarket and screamed like a banshee until my mother came to find me. 3. I once hid in the girl’s change-room at school so I could see them getting undress. 4. My favourite drink is Vodka Martini. 5. I rode a camel when I visited the pyramids in Egypt and could not walk properly for a day. 6. I have never been hospitalized. 7. My mom’s entire ladies tea club saw me naked when I was 18. (Do NOT even ask! I mean it!) 8. I can drink an entire can of Coca Cola in less than 10 seconds. 9. I hate spinach. 10. I threw up all over date at my Matric dance. 11. I love my Playstation and have over 50 games. 12. I sang the solo in Oliver Twist when I was in primary school . 13. I cannot stand to hear Celine Dion sing. 14. I worked behind the bar at a strip club to earn extra money when I was at university. 15. The first time I got drunk, I was 13 years old. 16. I once fell out of a tree and landed in a river and nearly drowned 17. I was a prefect in high school. (How's that one for you?) 18. I am a hyperactive adult. 19. I parachuted out of an aeroplane in my second year at university. 20. I have a killer smile. My tags: (and no pressure guys) Total waste (Revenge, mate. You threatened to send viruses to my home pc) Buddess (Call it curiosity?) IITQ ( I know you are going to hate doing this... all in good spirit) Michelle (I want a few surpises!) Rielle (You are the latest person to stumble onto my blog) Terri, Del, Lucy, Ekapa, KN, cec1del, Omid, PB... I am letting you off the hook (this time)

Chitty! Chitty! He's our man! If he can't... (slap!)

2005-10-19T14:33:00.000+02:00

My girlfriend has one of those fancy hand-held Braun multi-mixers. You know the one with all the attachments that allows you to use it for all kinds of things around the kitchen. Quite a nifty piece of equipment, I would say. I haven’t actually used it, but she says it is nifty, so I believe her. Actually she does not allow me to go near it, so I watch from a distance while she does all of those crafty things with it. Whipping and slicing and dicing and chopping and grinding, etc. I am so getting one for myself! Anyway, the damn thing broke and no longer working. So I offered to look at it for her. I mean, what are boyfriends if they can’t do things for the women in their lives? Plus, taking things apart, fixing it and putting it back together is bloody macho, if you ask me. If I were a girl, I would want a guy who knows his way around appliances. Like MacGyver and all the other friggin' guys who walk around in overalls and carry big toolboxes with all sorts of tools and shit in them. A real man’s kind of man! ME: Do you want me to take a look at it for you? It may be something small and it may only take a minute. GF: Honey, does that mean you are going to… well, open it up? ME: Ya well, I kinda have to see what’s inside, you know. How else am I going to see what is wrong with it? No more than a quick look-see. For all you know it may just be a loose wire. GF (sounding kinda nervous): Uh… you know what? I just remembered. (lotsa giggles). It is still under guarantee. Yeah, I only bought it a few months ago. Perhaps I should take it back to shop and let them have a look at it. Wouldn’t want that guarantee to go to waste, would we now?! (more giggles) ME(disappointed): Oh ok… if you say so. Where’d you buy it? GF: At Boardmans. The one at the mall… close to the optometrist. ME: Oh good! Well, I drive past the mall every morning on my way to work. I can drop it off for you. It’s no big deal; I’ll drop it off at customer services. GF: Thanks… so nice of you. Lemme get you the guarantee and the till invoice. (Kisses me on the forehead). I leave her place soon after and take the doomed appliance with me. As soon as I get home, I think to myself, “What if I could actually fix it?” There is no harm in taking a eensy-weensy look inside. I’ll keep all the screws and pieces together and put it back together exactly the way it was. Every hook, pin, screw, nut, bolt, gear, spring, bushing, staple, clip, clamp, strap and wire. So, I take out my tool kit and open the little bugger up. "Hehehe… who’s you daddy now?" I mean, really, what is a guy to do? On the drive home , it was just sitting there next to me in the car… calling out to me in that seductive nymph-like voice,

“Oh please, take me apart? You can fix me up, you know you can. I don't want to go back to that awful shop”.

How could I say no? I had to do the honourable thing... see what’s inside. Besides, just think how happy the gf would be if I brought back to her the next night. Like new. It is now in a million little pieces at my house. I tried to put it together again, but when I was done, there were a couple a screws left over and I did not know where they were supposed to go. Also, there is a distinct sound, kind of like the sound a coin makes when falls onto the floor, when you give it a slight jiggle. I know it is not supposed to do that. Dammit, they don’t make things like they used to. So tonight, straight after work, I am going to the shop to buy her a new one. I have already phoned ahead and they have the same model in the exact colour. I am so lucky! I may even buy one for myself. Yeah, and best I don’t mention the whole taking-the-appliance-apart episode to her. She would never understand. I’ll just put in a plastic bag and throw it in the trash… quietly. Still I can’t help thinking what an achievement it would have been had I been able to fix it up and put it all together. Given my track record, I would probably never experience a moment so sublime this side of eternity. (Sigh) [Haloscan (grrr...) is on the blink and you may not be able to make any comments.]

Triple vignette (not quite)

2005-10-18T11:41:00.000+02:00

Uno. Back from the Cape and for the first time in all the years since moved to Johannesburg, I felt a little sad about coming home. There can only be two reasons for this; 1. I am getting older and this freaky nostalgic streak that has played havoc with me for the past 2/3 week has not run its course, or 2. The nostalgia trip is over and my alter ego, the chitster had such a party down in Cape Town, he did not want to return home… ever! I have come to realise that I am a bit of a whore and that I like living in excess. Well, I am not a whore in true sense of the word, but I think you get what I am aiming at. Hehehe… even I have morals and there are some things I just would not do. It is astonishing how free-spirited and easy one becomes when one is away from the things that normally ground you, such as family, gf, work etc. And that is exactly what happened when I met up with friends and acquaintances from my not-so-tame past. I slipped into my Cape Town skin in no time at all. We really had a lot of fun and I felt a bit like a tourist with ppl taking me around to “show’ me the city. Funny actually! Anyway, the trip was a big success business-wise as well. I have signed the papers, negotiated the perks and salary and will leave the company at the end of this month. I start my new job on the 1st of December. I guess it truly is a case of all's well that ends well.
Dos. Yesterday evening, I got pinched on the butt by an old woman at the supermarket. Yeah, my sex appeal is at an all time low! I needed some provisions, so I stopped at the friendly neighborhood Spar on the way home. In the breakfast aisle, just as I reached up to take my favourite cereal from the top shelve, someone pinched my butt. I looked around and there was no-one around, save an old woman of about 70(?) years old, complete with blue rinse and a cane. Assuming that it could only be her, I told her in my very best school boy English, “You really shouldn’t be going around supermarkets pinching people’s butts” To which she replied, “lighten up, kiddo. I am 75 years old. There are very few things I can do at my age, which would not involve breaking a hip or ending up in traction. And pinching your butt is one of them” I had no reply and all I could do was shake me head and smile at her. It felt dirty and almost sexy at the same time… yikes! I wanted to say that I would be more than willing to slide into shackles and cover myself in dark chocolate the next time I see her. Somehow I don’t think that comment would have been well received.

Tress. Ok… I know this one is a little old, but since I was in Cape Town last week, I did not get time to blog my feelings on this. So here goes… (Warning: If you have not seen the movie Layer Cake, you may want to stop here and move on to the next blog). DANIEL CRAIG How do they justify choosing him as the new James Bond and more importantly, why the fuck do I actually care? (Shrug) It is one of those unsolved mysteries that ranks right up there with the re-election of Dub’ya and why Charles cheated on Diana with Camilla. I, like many people around the world, asked the question, “What the fuck is up with that”, when the announcement was made. Claim to fame: He is the guy who banged Jude Law’s obscenely gorgeous wife, Sienna Miller. Yet another unsolved mystery to add to his resume. Of course Jude was also short-listed for the role of 007, so in actual fact Daniel screwed him over TWICE. Nicely done! His movie career: I honestly only remember seeing him act in 2 movies; Tomb Raider and Layer Cake. Tomb Raider to me was all about Angelina Jolie so Daniel’s role in the movie is kind of a blurry to me. Which brings me to Layer Cake (without the cream filling). If you did a 180 degree about turn and mouthed the phrase “wtf” while doing so, well then I have illustrated my point. Absolutely, in my humblest bloody opinion, one of the worst drug films ever made. Ok… perhaps Daniel's acting in the film is NOT the worst I’ve seen, but why is his charater in the movie called XXXX? The scene where they shoot him in the chest… thoroughly enjoyed it. Shows you how much I like the guy. I reckon we will have to wait for Casino Royale to pass proper judgment. Is he even remotely good-looking? I leave that up to the ladies to decide.

Cheap Whiskey

2005-10-11T14:54:00.000+02:00

(I am going to snap out of this “serious” mood one of these days, I promise!! Geez, I am even starting to scare myself.) Watching a relationship fall apart is like drinking cheap whiskey, too sharp and plain nasty. There are casualties all around and it is not necessarily restricted to the two people involved. My friend Mike and his fiancée are heading for a break up as far as I can tell. And I am sick and tired of sitting around while waiting for it to happen. I want them to end the relationship already so that all of us can have peace and go on with our lives. It is like watching a train wreck that happens in slow motion. We all know what is about to happen so why not fast forward to actual collision and skip the multiple angles and gory details. The worst part of the relationship breaking up is the not one of them has told us what is going on. So I can’t bloody walk up to him and ask him to let me in on whatever is happening. All the signs are there and it is killing not only the two of them, but the rest of us as well. Take last Saturday for instance. We are over at their place. Everything looks ok on the surface until her cell phone beeps signaling the arrival of a text message. Before anyone has to react to the sound, she grabs her phone and disappears into the house. You look over to your mate and you know that he knows that sms did not come from her "granny" who lives on the other side of town. She is seeing someone else. You know it, he knows it; In fact, the whole bloody world knows it and we all make as if nothing is going on. You look over to your gf and recognise the look in her yes. It is the same awkward look you have in yours! She re-joins the campany about half an hour later. You know she’s been on the phone with someone all that time, because you heard her giggling and laughing when you went inside to get ice from the bar. The atmosphere is so thick you can make a triple-scoop ice cream out of it. Your girlfriend makes up an excuse about having to go home and you leave soon after. When you get home, you call up your mate and ask him if everything is ok. He says not too worry, they are dealing with it. In other words, "butt out and mind your own feckin’ beewax". Nice. If they are dealing with it, then why do I feel like he just poured me a glass of cheap whiskey? Don't think I'll drink it. I'm not that desperate for alcohol, after all...

Random realisations on a Thursday

2005-10-06T15:34:00.000+02:00

I am seldom satisfied with the present. I am always looking out for something better… for greener grass, sunnier skies… and now that summer is here again… skimpier dressed women. Most times however I find myself blissfully hiding away in a state of mushy nostalgia longing for things that could have been. Other times I am constantly making plans, scheming, plotting, and playing out the future in my mind. Of course not all of my schemes come to fruition. Some are farfetched, others are just plain silly and ludicrous. Yet even though I fail and make mistakes, I rarely regret my actions or the time spent on doing what I did. Time is only wasted when you learnt nothing. I have a little box labeled “Chitty-isms” and I look through it every time I need a good laugh. [Clarification: it is a mental box and not an actual physical one] Talking about growing up. A friend asked me a while ago who I would single out as the most influential person in my life. For the life of me, I could not think of anyone in particular! It was kinda disturbing at the time, as if having a role model is something any normal person would have. It's one of those questions you feels you should have the correct answer for, and I don't. But then I got to think about it for a little bit. I think I take bits and pieces from the various people I come into contact with (whether I meet them personally or read about them in books or magazines). The people I idolize and admire aren’t necessarily the people I school my life and actions on. They shape my peripheral vision and are add-ons to what is already there. I have however come to realise that much of my life up to this point has been centered around the women in my life. My childhood, my adolescence, adulthood… defined by my utter and lifelong dependence on women. It is a strange realisation to come to and I sometimes wonder if that is normal. It is the truth nonetheless. Should I have had a greater dependence on my father? I do not know. I cannot remember a time when a woman did not plays a pivotal role in my past, my present and what seemingly is my future. I am not saying that I schooled my life on female values or that I am incapable of taking care of myself. There is however a strong thread of female dependency that runs though my entire life… the operative word being, dependency of course. There have always been, still are and always will be many strong men in my life too. There’s my gentlemanly, yet stern and ambitious father. My uncles, the mates, teachers and the football coaches. These guys shaped my belief in the value of my own life, my strength and self esteem. Yet, my dependence on the women in my life makes up for a large proportion of who I am, intellectually and spiritually and how view I ppl around me. I remember the women in my life with nothing but gratitude, my mother, my sisters, the teachers and all the girlfriends that shared my life at some point . My dependence may be my downfall one day. Until then … I guess I’ll enjoy the ride. I think I’ll call me mom and tell her I love her.

They come back to haunt you

2005-10-05T13:22:00.000+02:00

Let’s all hop aboard Chitty’s Flashback Express for a minute, shall we? The year is 1990. It is my first year of high school (standard 6 / grade 8) and I am 13 years old. Puberty has just started to kick in and I am drowning in a turbulent sea of my own hormones. I love my newly-discovered freedom and the manchild I have become! 1990 is the year I come into my own and discover what it takes to be cool and popular at school. It is also the year the Chitster is born, and I begin my lifelong quest of finding myself in embarrassing situations. There are two things that stand out in my first year of high school, apart from the fact that I sucked at school work, especially science.

The amount of time I spent (as most teenage boys do) trying to look cool… and the amount gel I put on my hair every morning. Hey, a cool guy needs cool hair… so don’t mess with the freakin’ hair, ok! Aramis Hair Gel, yuk… that is what I used. Every day I would walk to school with my head swathed in a cloud of Aramis. You could smell me coming a mile away. What was I thinking back then?
And then there was SHE. The girl of my dreams. Every morning when I saw her, my heart would jump out of my chest and hide in the farthest, darkest corner of the classroom. She is perfection personified. There are no words to describe her beauty, her perfection, her radiant smile. I am in love as only a 13 y.o. could be. Completely, utterly and with a savageness that ravages my soul. My nights are without sleep. I write long letters, but I never give them to her. I have an image of coolness to uphold and she can never know.

I could talk to all the other girls in my class, but not to her. Yet in all this time, I know… one day she would fall in love with me. I had five years to fulfill my dream, and nothing, was going to get in my way. But infortunately, something did... I got in the way of myself, and that which I wanted most. By late 1990, puberty goes into overdrive… full throttle (pardon the pun). I am dating my first real girlfriend, and it is also the year of my sexual awakening. (A little too much info, I know, but I have to paint the picture, so bear with me!). I am Mr. Self Confidence impersonated. I am drunk on testosterone, and all of the things that makes a young boy of my age tick. Suddenly, winning her over is no longer my only goal. There is so much to do, so many new things to learn and to experience. Eventually, the two of us become friends. Yet, I always felt like she was the one that got away and, perhaps, a part of me never gave up on the noble dream of there being an “US”. High school ends, we all go off to university, I leave Cape Town and move to JHB and I never see her again. Flash forward to 2005, Saturday morning, a week ago. I am in Rosebank. I park my car on the side of a busy street, and walk across the road to a CD store. It is a hot a spring /summer’s day. As I reach the other side, someone calls out my name. I stop and look around. And there SHE is. She looks just as she did all those years ago. Perfection! Suddenly, I am 13 again. So many years have passed... and at the same time so many have not. I feel awkward as I walk over to say hello to her. Wow, what are the odds of this happening? Dream girl and I meeting on the streets of Johannesburg. We start talking and catch up on old times and recent events. We laugh at the silly things we did way back then. It could not have been more than 10 minutes, but it feels like an hour. All of sudden, I notice a hand appearing on her shoulder. It is a man. I did not notice him coming up behind her while we are talking. On his right hand is a little boy, no more than 5 years old. She introduces us. Her husband and her son. She mentions their names but I can’t hear what she says. We shake hands and I smile, but I feel trapped… and foolish. I can feel the heat rising in my chest. The crystal ball that is my teenage heart… shatters. I look down and see a million broken pieces scattered around my feet. For a brief moment, they reflect the bright sunlight with blinding intensity and then... they are gone. We say our good-byes. I think she said something about keeping in touch and “we must get together soon”. I say, “Yeah, of course we must do that”. Inside… I know we won’t. I won’t call nor do I want to see her again. I walk back to my car, the CD shop completely forgotten, and sit there for about 5 minutes reflecting on what had just happened. I pick up the cellphone and call my gf. I ask her if she wants to come over and have dinner with me at my place that night. I’ll cook. She laughs and says ok, but she’ll bring the desert. I look back across the road; to the place where my youthful dream was shattered. I realise it was never my dream to begin with, just the silly notions of a 13 year old boy. I start the car. Suddenly, there's the faint odour of Aramis hair gel in my car. A residual memory. Haha… Damn, I spent a lot of time gelling my hair way back then. Some things never change. Reality and fantasy aren’t meant to meet. Not on a sidewalk in the suburb of Rosebank in Johannesburg. The odds are stacked, the bases are loaded and reality always wins.

Conversations with the girlfriend

2005-10-03T14:52:00.000+02:00

On the subject of what she likes most about me, the girlfriend retaliated that I am a charming arsehole. I kid you not! Harumph!
Until that very moment, I have never even heard of a charming arsehole, but she says if there ever was such a thing(?), I would be the poster boy for it. (can you taste the sarcasm in this one?)
Ok… I flinched a bit, well quite a bit, at the mention of the word arsehole, but she assures me it is meant in the nicest possible way.
I laughed, as boyfriends always do, and mentioned that I thought it was kinda cute, although I had no bloody idea what she was talking about. I am never quite sure when it comes to these things and what the correct response should be.
I have given up trying to understand the subtle nuances of the female’s use of words and language. Ask any guy whose girlfriend has ever referred to the colour pink as "peach blossom " or to brown as "the colour of sun-ripened dates " when they talked about new tiles for the bathroom. I was of course completely unaware that the colour spectrum has moved into realm of fruits and other things of a vegetative nature.
Whatever happened to dear old ROYGBIV, I ask you!! But there you have it folks (and by folks I mean men), colour as we know it, no longer exists. [Don’t get even get me started on such statements as, “White is the new black]
Personally, I can think of a myriad of words to describe myself, the majority of which would include the words stud and hunk linked to other words such as charming, debonair, smooth and sophisticated. Apparently none of these come to mind when the woman I care about, thinks of me.
So when my girl calls me a charming arsehole, I bite my lip and assume she knows what she’s talking about. I smile my cutest smile and pretend that she means that I am charming in a somewhat rogue-ish, bad-boy sort of way.
Let’s be brutally honest here, most guys are arseholes anyway, so a charming arsehole may just be a step up on the evolutionary ladder.
For the briefest of moments I thought it was a game. I wanted to play along and call her something along the lines of feisty vixen, saucy bitch or something equally enigmatic. But then I decided that this is one game I am not going to win and gave up. What with me not being able to speak womanese [(n): the official language of the species native to the planet Venus], I am at a distinct disadvantage.
I may also seriously jeopardize my chances of having sex in the next ten years and that was there was the clincher.
I am charming arsehole… hear me purr!
Uhhhh…. you think perhaps the episode with the air hostess may have had something to with it?

One for the road...

2005-09-30T15:12:00.000+02:00

There is a reality show on M-Net called Amish in the City. Yes, you heard me! Whoever thought up this show should be hung, strung and quartered and then fed to a thousand foul smelling maggots living on the genitals of the troll who resides in the swamps located on the seventh moon of the planet "KissMy-friggin-Ass". If this does not epitomise the essense of what it means to "scrape the bottom of the barrel", then nothing else ever will. It is at times like this when a quote by Gallagher springs to mind: Don't you wish there were a knob on the TV to turn up the intelligence? There's one marked 'Brightness', but it doesn't work. My sentiments exactly. Vodka Martini, anyone? Here's to an absolutely "luvly" weekend!

Know any good lullabies?

2005-09-29T14:58:00.000+02:00

Splitting headache! Dog tired! Pity me all good people who read this blog. No really, I mean it… so please, go right ahead and do it. I am as worn out as a cucumber in a convent and all I ask is to go home and sleep for at least an hour. At 3:30 this morning I was jolted out of bed by the incessant barking of my two dogs. At first I thought it was nothing, so I called out their names and told them to shut up. Normally that helps and I am able to get back to doing what I do best… sleep. This time however they keep right on barking. So I figure that perhaps there is an intruder in my yard. Yeah, I am friggin’ paranoid. My brain sped right past the neighbour’s cat scenario and headed straight for i-n-t-r-u-d-e-r. So I get up and switch on all the lights. I figure that if there is an intruder on the premises, surely this would scare them off. Of course with the lights on, the dogs stop barking, so I reckon that whoever or whatever they were barking at, has left. But just to be on the safe side I also decide to take a look outside by peering through the windows. Of course any old fool can tell you that if you have the light on in a room, there is no way you can see through the window as all it does is reflect your own image. (Look, mommy, there is a scary man at the window…. hehehe). So I go from room to room, turn the lights off, pull back the curtains and look through the window. If the sight of me in my sleep shorts doesn’t scare them away, then nothing else will. By about the third window, it suddenly dawns on me that if there were any intruders outside, me cupping my hands around my face and peering through the window, would prolly be a good target for anyone who wanted to harm me. So I abandoned that absolutely brilliant plan, turned all the lights off, set the alarm and went to bed. About 5 minutes after I turned the lights off, the dogs start barking again. What was I thinking? This time I am livid! Screw the intruders and the neighbor’s cat, I direct all my anger at the dogs and let lose with what can best be described as the theatrics of a madman. Think Rumplestiltskin (NO… not Donald Rumsfeld) dancing around and you get the picture. I think I set a new world record in how many times the word f&ck, various permutations thereof and the word neuter can be used in one sentence. I may also have woken up my neighbours, but who cares, the more the merrier. Why should I lie awake all by myself? Anger and sleep do not go well together. So over the next few hours, long after the dogs stopped barking, I lie awake in bed and will myself to sleep. I bargain with God and even promise to give up on all sorts of things if he will only reach down from heaven and knock me unconscious until it is time for me to wake up. The funny thing about God is that he is not easily persuaded and my foolish promises must have had him rolling with laughter. Either that or he was fast asleep. I started my day… at 3:30… AM!!! Try and top that! If you can’t, well go right back and pity little ol’ me.

Into the future...

2005-09-28T09:33:00.000+02:00

Ok… lets get down to the more serious stuff for a bit. I have a job interview lined up for tomorrow evening after work. I am excited about having the interview, but I am approaching it with a certain amount of caution and skepticism as I am as yet not one hundred percent sure of what is expected of me. I guess all of that will be made clear to me when I meet with my prospective bosses. What I do know is that the company I am interviewing for, has been in existence for about 2 years. This in itself scares me a little as I know, and there are many examples of this happening, that many small companies tend to do well initially and then away fizzle in to nothingness. A small startup company, based in Cape Town, who in a very short space of time has become a significant player in the industry they operate in. They appear to have a pretty solid client base and a lot more that are willing to come on board, as I have discovered and have been told. Yep, I’ve been doing a bit of research of my own too. It is an advantage to be prepared and at least have an idea of who you are dealing with. According to the company representative who contacted me, the number of clients in the Gauteng region has grown significantly in the last year and now represents a large portion of their portfolio. With the expansion, the increased workload and demand on their resources, it has become necessary to set up offices in Johannesburg. They are no longer able to see to and fulfill the needs of their Gauteng-based clients out of the offices Cape Town. A few names were mentioned and based on what I know, these are major companies in South Africa. They need solid around the clock representation in Johannesburg that would be able to look after these clients. And that apparently... is where I come in. They are basically looking for someone who can set up (from scratch) and run the office in Johannesburg from an operational and marketing perspective. It is an exciting prospect and a great opportunity, one that I can exploit and leverage to my own and the company’s advantage. Hard work and long hours are the least of my concerns and have never been an issue for me. I am however naturally skeptical and before I make any decisions there are lots of questions that needs to be answered an many more assurances that need to be made. My entire professional career has been spent in working for large multi-nationals. Job and financial security has never been something I needed to worry or be concerned about. There are many advantages/disadvatages to working for a multi-national, and so far I have been able to swing the pendulum in my favour. Lucky, perhaps? Who knows? There are an increasing number of people out there who swear by th fact that working for a large company is not all that it is made out to be. There is also a growing trend globally and in South Africa towards moving to smaller businesses. Small is the new big ala Seth Godin and other ppl in the know. The concept appeals to me and has for quite a while. Perhaps the time has come to sit down and seriously look at the options. Anyway, enough said for now. The meeting/interview will hopefully reveal all and help me to make an informed decision. What more could I ask for than to be given an opportunity to do just that?

Nobody does it like me

2005-09-26T15:35:00.000+02:00

Some day soon I am going to learn to do things the right way and NOT make an ass out of myself. In my defense, I ought to be able to get away with the same things others seemingly get away with. You know what the worst thing about being pulled over by the traffic police is? The flashing blue lights and that uber loud and annoying siren! I ask you, could it get any worse?! You hear that siren, your blood freezes and every fiber in your body goes into shock… the kind of paralysing shock that says I-am-so-dead. They may as well have a big flashing neon arrow on the roof of the car with the word TRAFFIC OFFENDER written all over it, pointing directly at you. It is Saturday afternoon and I am at the corner of Katherine and West when I realise that I am in the wrong lane. The lane I am in is for cars turning left only and I should be in the lane for cars turning right. An honest mistake and one that is very easily rectified. Just proceed to the next intersection, turn the car around, head back to the intersection you came from and get into the right road. Not so easy when there is a NO U-TURN sign at the next intersection. Yep, the universe is conspiring again! So I look around and I see there are only two other cars at the intersection, no cars behind me, but more importantly, THERE ARE NO ONCOMING CARS! I figure perhaps I could make a quickie u-turn. Who will ever know? It would be like the tree falling in the forest and nobody hearing… uh… yeah, perhaps not quite that easy. And if by chance someone were to notice, there’d be no harm. I would get back to where I should be, and in the end that is all that counts. (The little guy sitting on my shoulder is a charm). Yeah, I know, I prolly deserve to be bitch-slapped, so quit shaking your head and waving your finger at me. What’s with the holier-than-thou attitude anyway… don’t tell me you have not broken a dozen or two traffic rules? Besides, the Chitster is genetically programmed to do stoopid things. The traffic light goes green, I allow the other cars to move and make my “teensy-weensy” illegal turn. Whooo- peee… I made it… or so I thought. The next minute, all hell breaks loose and there are sirens and flashing blue lights everywhere. Where the hell do these police cars come from? How the hell do they manage to materialize out of friggin’ nowhere… like the goddamn genie from Aladdin’s’ lamp. And it is not only the police… suddenly the intersection is filled with cars and as if they had been summoned to witnesses to your heinous crime. And they all give you that look… the one that says, “You should be ashamed of yourself”. Oh man, how embarrassing! The cops of course take their time in writing out the ticket (so that more ppl can see you). They walk around the car and ask you questions that are designed to get you to implicate yourself. “Good afternoon, sir. Are you aware that you just made an illegal u-turn?” Don't you just love how they phrase the questions? What could I say to them? No and deny that the sign never existed? Where is all that crap about the tree falling in the forest when you need it? A fine of R800.00 later and with the self esteem trampled to bits, I finally manage to get away from there. No more, I tell you! No more!

Spring break?

2005-09-23T15:17:00.000+02:00

Family… can’t live with them and can’t do without them either. The spring school holidays started today and my 13 year old hormonal nephew (He who showers with shampoo) asked whether he can come and stay with me for the next ten days. Grooan!!!!! Don’t get me wrong I love the kid and he makes me laugh all the time, but I don’t know if I am up to the responsibility and the whole “loving uncle” routine. My sister is only to glad to have him out of the way and she’s been phoning me almost daily to ask when I am coming to fetch him. I reckon she just do not know what to do with him and the thought of him at home for all hours while she is at work, terrifies the hell out of her. He's a lot like me, and if I were her, I would take out insurance on all my belongings and my life for that matter. The other day, and she still has not recovered from the shock, she came home with a workmate and found "Mister” watching TV in the lounge… practically nude and with nothing but a towel around his waist… with the girl from next door. She was fully clothed, thank God. Yep, apparently he had a shower and she came to visit just as he came out of the shower. He didn’t want to leave her alone by herself so he stayed with her instead. Hey, hey, hey… it is plausible! I don’t want to think the worst of the kid. These things happen on TV all the time. Why just the other night there was this show on TV where… uhm... nope, that did not happen. We are having fairly hot weather up in JHB, their aircon is on the blink and the swimming pool is not ready for swimming. So when you feel hot, you take a shower and when a friend comes by to visit, you wrap a towel around your waist and watch TV with them. Yeah, that bit is new to me too. I would have preferred if he had gone and put some clothes on, but what the heck, it is not like he planned it. Shame on his mother for coming home early and the girl for visting, unannounced! According to my sister, he was completely unfazed (He's either innocent or the kid has nerves of steel!) about the arrival of her and the workmate. He merely got up and walked to his room, leaving the girl friend with his mother. He got dressed and came back a short while later and swears that nothing out of the ordinary had happened! My response was, “What you expected the kid to do, continue to watch TV and pretend his mother is not around? At least he's not walking around in the backyard exposing himself to the neighbours (something my mates and I did do once... long ago) " I could see her brain going into overdrive at that thought and then she accused me of not taking the matter seriously. I may mention that my sister tends to overreact a tad and may at times behave like a drama queen. The workmate thought it was hilarious. Good on her! I suspect though my sister may be looking for another job. She has issues with being embarrassed. Of course she blames this entire episode on me and swears by my deceased grandmother that his behavior is typical of me when I was a teenager. (Huh... how did that happen?). Funnily, I don’t ever remember prancing around in a towel when my friends came over to visit. Talk about getting the facts wrong. Now she wants me to take him for the next ten days and talk some sense into his head. She reckons since I “caused it”, I need to fix it. Grrrrrr!!! Can you see what I am up against? I also mentioned that perhaps all she needs to do is put her foot down and lay down the rules, but she reckons a man’s influence is what is needed. And I am THAT man, it seems. She’s divorced and the husband has little or no contact with the kids. I still think he is merely pushing his boundaries and his behaviour, although a bit odd (ok, very odd), is nothing to worry about. Jirre… I don’t know whether to laugh or jump off a bridge. A teenage boy whose brain and common sense seems to be on the blink, in my care. In spite of my better judgment, I have agreed to let him stay over. Now I have to hide the shampoo and move the TV into his room.

Life's little frustrations

2005-09-22T14:02:00.000+02:00

Never, and I mean.... NEVER assume you are charming and smooth when you ask the cute waitress called Rosemary if the LAMB CHOPS WITH ROSEMARY means that she is having dinner with you. Especially, when she has been on her feet for most of the evening and is speeding past you with four plates of quesadillas perfectly balanced on her arms, all the way from her wrists to her biceps. On both arms. The amount of humour and charm one can take is apparently directly proportional to the number and size of the blisters on your feet and the hours you’ve been working. And when she starts whispering and pointing you out to her colleagues, it may be a good idea to start thinking about having your dinner elsewhere. You never know what may be mixed in with that delightful green salad or the glass of ice water you have just ordered. And the lamb chops… well, they could very likely be the left-overs from yesterday’s lunch buffet. You are better off eating at the blue-collar take away around the corner chewing on the ass of a rabid dog. You could not enjoy the meal if it came for free and with all the drinks you can have… on the house! When single, misguided and testosterone meets tired and cute but humourless waitress… the outcome is seldom pretty.

Let's take it from the top... one more time.

2005-09-21T11:29:00.000+02:00

Who hasn't questioned a choice they’ve made or wondered what their life would be like today if something that had happened in the past had turned out differently. That inconsequential decision, for example, that led you to meet the love of your life or that job that lead to financial independence and success. Sometimes, small choices change everything. The boss and I had THE meeting yesterday (Again! Leave me be already!)to discuss my “future” with the company and revisit my decision to leave at the end of this year. Actually he had a discussion with me, because in my mind that ship had already sailed. I had said all I wanted to say to him the day I walked into his office with my decision to resign. And having reached that point, I prefer not to be confronted by the alternatives, the pros and cons and the “what if’s”. Yep, I am an ostrich and sometimes, just sometimes, the world seems a whole lot better when you bury your head in the sand. Admittedly and to some extend, I am being cowardly about it and do not really want to face up to the reality of what my life may be like a few months from now. I tell myself I have plenty of time to figure things out. The naked truth is, I do not have the luxury of time. I may be out of work come December 2005 with no steady income, etc. The adventurer in me reminds me that there is world of opportunities out there and new things for me to do. But adventure and misplaced romantic notions do not pay the bills nor does it put food on the table. When I walked into my boss’ office two months earlier, high on my own bravado and perceived self-worth, it took a lot of guts. I had spent many long hours mulling over my decision to move on and I have thought about it even more since then and there are times, now, when I doubt myself. When I discussed the decision to quit with my father a few days prior to that meeting in July, I thought he was going to crucify me. My old man comes from a generation of people where providing for his family was a man’s ultimate goal. There was no time for dreams and frivolities. In his day, a man had to go out there and do what he needed to do, not only for himself but because other people depended on him. He is a no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is man and the only person that can get him to listen is my mother. What he lacks in book knowledge he made up for by an abundance of practical know-how and, more importantly, a kind heart. He looked me in the eye and said, “You go right ahead and do what you feel is right. Life isn’t very long and you are the only person who can put a measure to your success”. Knowing my dad, I expected a one hour lecture from him… but he didn’t. At most I expected him to tell me to let go of my foolish childish notions and be a man. None of that. He just left it up to me. Wow! [flashback to the Invasion Of The Body Snatchers] So I sat there and listened to my boss going on and on about the job market, unmeployment and the scarcity of jobs, the bright future I have with the company, how I should not make hasty decisions and about the new position coming up in my department. All of which makes perfect sense and yet none of it really spoke to me on my level. Ok... at some point I may have spaced out and floated away on a bubble to a planet inhabited by female warriors and came back just in time to hear him finish off his inspiring soliloquy. But mostly... I listened. What he doesn’t seem to understand is that I am no longer happy working here. The job is no longer a challenge and that I do not want to work as a marketer all my life. I don’t want to end up banging my secretary ten years from now because I am tired of life and need excitement. I do not want to look back in a few years time and regret that I have played it safe and sold out to my insecurities. I don’t want to work here because of all the reasons he just mentioned. I don’t give a rats ass about the prospects and the security and all the crap he’s trying to shove down my throat. I am u-n-h-a-p-p-y. All the security and money in the world cannot buy my happiness. So I wait patiently for him to finish and I thank him for the time and the support. I jokingly tell him that the next time I need advice, I will ask for it. My decision to leave stands and that I will be leaving the company at the end of this year. Do I have brass balls? I doubt it… not since the last time I checked. Am I a delusional fuckwit living a wet dream? More than likely. Am I sticking to my decision to leave because I am too proud to retracting my resignation? Not a fucking chance! I have my pride, but I’ll get down on my hands and knees and do whatever I have to do while I’m down there, if I have to. I don’t have a fuggin' clue what next year will bring and what the bloody hell I may be doing. And that there is a pretty humbling and sobering thought, let me tell you. This is scary $hit! All I know is that whatever it is… I won’t be doing it by working here. [There's the soft ruffle of wings and I watch my last chance to change my mind fly out the the window]

A room with a view, please?

2005-09-20T09:28:00.000+02:00

Someone sent me this joke by e-mail. I thought it was kinda funny. No prizes for guessing that I failed the test. What can I say... I don't have very many MENSA (if any at all) moments, especially not before 9 in the morning. I am taking the room with a view... the one in the corner. Anyone out there care to join me? During a visit to the mental asylum, a visitor asked the Director what is the criteria which defines a patient to be institutionalised. "Well" said the Director "we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask him/her to empty the bathtub". OK, here's your test. 1. Would you use the teaspoon? 2. Would you use the teacup? 3. Would you use the bucket? "Oh, I understand" said the visitor "A normal person would use the bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or teacup". "No" said the Director, "a normal person would pull the plug! Do you want a room with or without a view?"

Toy soldiers

2005-09-19T13:04:00.000+02:00

Friday was my first experience with paintball, and it was more fun than I had anticipated it to be. I’m sure I looked like an complete and utter doofus in my camouflage kit, but what the heck, you only live once. Still, being a doofus was a step up from the guys who passionately believed themselves to be bad-asses, despite the fact that all they were about to do was traipse around the bushes firing plastic balls that exploded in little spurts of green paint. I have bruises all over my arms from taking hits, although by my own admission, getting shot did not hurt as much as it was rumored too. Except of course for that one shot that hit me on the knuckles of my right hand. That one stung like a bitch and awoke in me the lust to kill. Someone on my own team also managed to shoot me in the ass as I was sneaking forward, and I am not too sure it was an accident. We were split into two teams and we played numerous rounds of Capture the Flag and variations on the theme. More often than not the game ended by one team taking out everyone on the other side. Screw the flag, killing is a helluva lot more fun! Taking out your opponent only meant hitting them once, but when you’re nervous and don’t want to get shot, you shoot till the guy cries out in agony. This means that you usually take somewhere between 3-10 hits before they’ll stop shooting. There was a lot of “OW…GAAAAAHD…I’M HIT! OUCH! STOP SHOOTING! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH I MEAN IT, YOU BASTARD! I AM SO GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!” going around. Oh yeah…. serious fun! The stuff corporate take-overs are made of. The course master advised us that taking the immediate offensive and charging en masse was the best strategy; it took us a while to realize that this was, in fact, a fantastically bad idea designed to make the rounds go faster. ASSHOLE! While some people tend to find a hiding place while waiting for the enemy to reveal themselves, I discovered that I am more adapt to seeking out the enemy, getting close to them and then shooting the crap out of them. And it has sweet all to do with being macho and brave. My philosophy is that if I am going to get killed, I’ll be damned if I ‘m going to wait around for it to happen. The guns are difficult to aim — if you’re firing single shots, it’s almost impossible to hit someone at long range. If however you get close enough, you can pretty much take out anyone with a well aimed shot. It is amazing how differently people approach the game. There are those who are just scared of being shot at and who will go into hiding. Others believe themselves to be invincible. They are the gung-ho players, the terminator wannabees, who will blast away at fellow humans with no regard to their own safety or survival. Hahaha... too much television and movies can seriously impair your hold on reality A few others are just in it for the fun. No matter how many times they get hit, they’ll be laughing and enjoying themselves. The worst kind however is the sore losers, the highly competitive fuckwits who take serious offense at being hit. These guys are off the bloody Richter scale. I hit one guy early on in the first game and every game we played after that, he made it his mission to seek and take me out. How friggin' crazy is that! He was so angry at me that he missed the objective of the game completely. Don’t think we’ll be holding hands soon. A weekend later, I am still a little sore from all that crouching and diving and general bustling about. I had a lot of fun, but I do not think I will be rushing out to try my hand at it soon… at least not until after the welt on my shoulder stops smarting. Real end-of-the-empire stuff, isn’t it?

Send in the clowns

2005-09-16T11:03:00.000+02:00

Yesterday’s team activity was a riot (it truly was) and I had fun. A bunch of overworked, unfit and exercise deprived adults competing on a mini-obstacle course. By no means a pretty sight! Jumping through hoops, climbing ropes, climbing trees, carrying logs, traversing the river and lots of running. As few ppl actually fell into the river. It seemed like fun, so I jumped in too. Just slap me on the side if my head and call me lemming! Hell, what is a bush experience worth if you have not experienced the bush? I have not been this active since I left high school and I loved it. Working out at the gym is nothing compared to this. Anyway, my… make that, our team won. It may not mean much, but being on a losing team sucks… period… no matter the activity. Oh, the boss tripped and fell, banged his head on tree stump and now he is wearing a “mummy” bandana. No serious injury, but he has a nasty cut above the eye. It dampened the enthusiasm somewhat, although I suspect a few people were thoroughly delighted with the outcome. Hehehe... We went on a game drive at dusk to see if we could catch a glimpse of the Big Five. I can’t say I was too thrilled about the idea. One could hardly see the animals in the fading light and most of them ran away and hid when they heard the 4x4 approaching. As a consolation, they provided us wih plenty of drinks on the drive, so we were all in a good mood by the end of it. Only one of the Big Five, a leopard, was sighted... much to the delight of the crew and we proceeded to celebrate the sighting with lots of pomp and cheer. Which could explain why all the other animals went into hiding. The airline crew left yesterday at lunch time. There were a lot of sad(?) good-byes and promises to stay in touch. As they were boarding, the girl from the bar walked up to me and said, “So WHEN am I going to get that kiss?” I said, “How about now?”, and then I moved in, pulled her close and kissed her. I reckon I owed her one. Hell, I owed myself one ! I think I am in the clear. And whoever wants to crucify me with a lecture on honesty, trust and fidelity, call me a skank for now, then invite me around for drinks and let’s have a debate. There were applause and "oohs" from her mates, so I assume they were in on it. It was nice though and given different circumstances… uh yeah… lets not dwell on that one. People were a lot quieter last night than on Wednesday. We had outdoor bush braai/spit. I swear they gave us warthog to eat, but I have no way of proving it. The temperature was a bit nippy, so we had to wear warm clothes. We ended up in the bar… AGAIN! What else is there to do in the middle of nowhere? Even the animals know to gather around the waterhole, so why shouldn’t we do the same. The boss and I had a talk about my future. [ Bang Bang... you're dead!] He asked me again to stay on. I wasn’t actually prepared for this conversation nor did I want to have it, so I asked that we continue it on Monday at the office. I promised to give it some thought. I actually realised that I am ok with what I know about him… his secret, that is. This is prolly the reason why I have not told anybody. It has little to do with restraint… I don’t give a continental x-y-z, if you know what I mean. The initial shock aside, it is just NOT that important to me. Who cares who he’s screwing and for what reasons? I have enough of my own shit to deal with. I don’t need to carry someone else’s crap on my shoulders. A bunch of us ended up in the hot tub/Jacuzzi last night. I wore dark glasses and did not see a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g... haha. It is strange the sides of people’s personalities you get to see when they are away from home and out of their “office” skins. I am not sure I that I am overly comfortable with “seeing” the other sides of my colleagues. At some point it just freaks me out and there are some things I am better off not knowing at all. [Shiver] "So enough with the character “strip-tease”, Boomer… it ain’t a pretty sight anymore!! Let’s draw the line in the sand and agree that you looked much better when you had the mask on." (Incidentally, I discovered they have a small “business centre” and I spent an hour catching up with the outside world. Lame... I know. I need to know when to pull the plug on technology) The team breakaway ends today at 4 pm and then it is back to reality. We have a two-hour paintball session lined up – I hope they give me the paintball equivalent of an AK47. Couldn't find the napalm, so paint will have to do. There's a BIG celebration on this weekend. The gf has her birthday on Sunday. Yep, we are both Virgos! I'm planning a party (or a disaster?) and have a lot of last-minute things to finish off before then. Adios, see you on the flip-side of the weekend!